Slowpoke Tails and Koffing Fumes
by Nocturne of Eclipse
Summary: Follow the adventures and misadventures of Proton and Petrel, from the time Proton was recruited to Team Rocket, to the fateful day when the organization disbands for good. There's some sort of plot in there, too, or something, I dunno. Olympicshipping. (Proton/Petrel)
1. Recruitment

Slowpoke Tails and Koffing Fumes

A Series of Pokemon Drabbles and Oneshots by Nocturne of Eclipse

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, or any related locations or characters. If I did this wouldn't be on _fan_fiction. It'd just be... y'know... _fiction_. Meh.

Goldenrod was a pretty nice place to live, overall. Sure, it had the highest crime rate in the region, the tap water smelled funny, and the schools had some of the worst gangs kids could possibly form, but other than that, it was rather delightful, and had a wonderful shopping mall, to boot. Of course, if you wanted to live in the nice parts of the city, it was rather expensive, and the ghetto wasn't exactly the best place for anyone to be walking around at night. Thankfully, however, Lance lived in neither.

In fact, he lived on the outskirts of the city in a motor home with his mother. The lot their trailer sat in had an old, rusted chain link fence running around its perimeter, with all sorts of junk and scrap laying around. Overgrown grass and weeds frequently tangled with anything lying around, even the old, worn-out lawn mower and tire that had, long ago when Lance and his family had lived in the suburbs in Kanto, been a swing he had frequently played on.

Lance himself was almost seventeen, and a junior attending Goldenrod Public High School. He, along with his mother and father, had moved to Goldenrod when he'd been about eight years old- he could remember very clearly the road trip from Viridian, riding in the very trailer he and his mother now resided in and watching the scenery as the mountains and pokemon blurred by.

His father had worked for Silph, and the move was due to a promotion he'd earned; his mother had run a daycare out of their old home, and when they'd moved, she'd simply been content with being a housewife. Of course, then there had been that whole scandal with that woman from his father's work, and his mother taking Lance with her as she took the trailer and left his father for good. That was when she'd started drinking, and Lance couldn't really blame her. He kind of wish he'd somehow stopped her, of course, because as the years passed by, her addiction had become worse and worse, and with the trouble she had holding down a steady job, her habit was always getting harder and harder to afford. When he found out she'd started snorting crack, he quickly realized they would be in quite a pickle when it came to their food situation. He'd gotten a part-time job at the PokeMart when he was thirteen, and even with his efforts, there were weeks where they simply went hungry. Still, he couldn't bring himself to be upset with his mother- she really was a sweet woman, and despite her habits, did care about Lance's wellbeing.

Despite his mother's benevolent nature, of course, the fact that she was an alcoholic and a drug addict got around the city fast, and kids who had once been Lance's friends were forbidden to have anything to do with him. It really did make school rather lonely. On top of that, his financial issues weren't much of a secret, either, and those who had remained in school taunted him- they hadn't gotten their Trainer's licenses because they wished to gain an education, first. He hadn't gotten his because his family couldn't afford it. It didn't exactly help matters that he shared his name with the strongest member of the Elite Four, Lance the Dragon Tamer. In fact, it just sort of made the bullying worse. Oh, well- it wasn't exactly like he cared, anymore. Especially since he had AP Calculus homework to work on, at the moment.

Idly, Lance tapped his cheap plastic pen against the page of his textbook, frowning at the derivatives as he wished, desperately, that he had a calculator- well, maybe he wasn't _that_ desperate. He could work the problems just fine in his head, but it took a little longer than working them out with a calculator- not one of those cheap ones his mother was always trying to get him to buy, but one of the super-nice graphing ones. It didn't do to dwell on what would make his life _easy_, Lance reminded himself with a sigh. He ran a hand through his greasy, lank hair and grimaced- they needed to pay their water bills soon, because he _really_ wanted a shower. Maybe he'd sneak into the locker room after school, the next day. With a second, deeper sigh and a shake of his head, Lance focused his gaze once again on his derivatives.

"Lance, honey?" Lance's gaze snapped up from his work, and he turned around to see his mother, poking her head into the trailer from outside. She looked much like he felt; weary and achey, and not to mention tired and hungry. It really did break his heart sometimes to know that once, she had been living comfortably as she at least deserved. It was for her sake that Lance smiled brightly and stood.

"Yeah, Ma?" he replied. "I didn't think you'd be home so soon. Is there something you need me to do for you?" His mother smiled softly in reply and nodded.

"I know you're doing your homework, and I'm sorry to bother you, but could you be a sweetheart and run to grocery store for a couple extra jugs of water? I tried, myself, but I couldn't quite carry them..." Yeah, and he had quite an idea why, as well. He could see she was trembling slightly, most likely from her withdrawals, and Lance knew immediately why she was sending him out of the house. He continued to smile, despite this, and stood, shutting his textbook on his pen and notebook paper.

"A'course, Ma, you know you don't gotta worry about askin'," he replied. His mother's smile widened slightly as she dug in her pockets to find some money.

"Here," she said, handing him a little more than he would actually need, "it's the middle of summer- why don't you stop and get yourself something cold on the way back?" Yeah, she was going to start snorting the second he left. Lance rolled his eyes good-naturedly and leaned down slightly to kiss his mother on the cheek as he sidled passed her to get outside.

"If you're still high when I get back, I'm not gonna be afraid ta call the cops, this time," he said. His mother snorted.

"That's what you said last time, honey. Be careful, alright?"

"Yes, Ma. I'll be back in a few hours." Pocketing the money, Lance set off down the sidewalk and into town. He cursed his softness as he walked- he wanted to make his mother stop, truly, just... Well, she was his _mom_. He didn't _want_ to call the cops, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how he'd afford any sort of rehab for her. Maybe he's just drop out of school and start working full-time... it wasn't exactly like he could ever afford college, either... His smile quickly faded away as he continued to walk. It was hot; very hot. The sun beat down mercilessly, and Lance was thankful that he'd been able to at least have deodorant stably in his life.

By the time he'd gotten to the grocery store, he was covered completely in perspiration, hair damp and plastering to his face and neck even as he sweated through his tanktop and boxers; thankfully, as his jeans were rather baggy on his scrawny form, they remained mostly dry, which was at least somewhat comfortable. It became direly less so when he stepped out of the sweltering heat and into the cold AC of the grocery store.

He shivered as he entered, passing a purple-haired street vendor wearing a ghastly-print t-shirt as he did so, and continued towards the water-and-bread aisle. There were a couple other guys there shopping, but Lance paid them no mind and trudged over to the water jugs, frowning when he noticed that most of them were already gone. He squatted down to search the back of the shelves and grinned to himself when he found that there were actually three left, and he reached out to grab two of them, pulling them both off the shelf with a mighty tug and turning in one motion. In retrospect, he should've accounted for the fact that sweaty palms and smooth plastic don't mix well.

He lost his grip on one of the jugs and swore as it flew out of his hand, hitting one of the shopping guys square in the back of knee, causing his legs to buckle and his head to hit one of the shelves on the way down. His friend and Lance stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed in surprise, before they turned to meet each other's gaze. The man left standing looked quite livid. Lance grimaced.

"H-hey, man, I'm sorry-!"

"Sorry?" the man snarled as his friend pushed himself to his feet. "Fuckin' prick, you coulda broke my partner's kneecaps!" Lance took a tiny step back, raising his hands in a placating motion.

"Seriously, dude, it was an accident, I didn't mean-" The first man got to his feet and dusted off his pants, turning to scowl at Lance from under the brim of his black hat.

"I don't think the li'l punk knows who he's dealin' with, here," he sneered. "What say we take him out back and teach him a lesson, Kaim, eh?" The second grinned savagely and grabbed the heavy water jug with ease.

"Maybe if he's lucky he'll make it home, tonight," he agreed. Lance's eyes widened significantly, and he quickly spun on his heel in an attempt to flee; the first of the men was faster, however, and grabbed him by the back of the neck with a grip like steel. Lance did his best to struggles and shout for help as he was dragged out of the store, but the terrified looks of other shoppers and the submissive, quiet atmosphere (besides his shouting, of course) on the way out confirmed for Lance exactly what he hoped hadn't been happening: it seemed that he had, rather unfortunately, pissed off a couple of rather violent members of Team Rocket. That was just his luck, too. Well, fuck.

He silenced himself quickly, ignoring the snide comment from one of the Rockets as he did so, and quickly began running mental calculations of survival plans. Honestly, his best bet was to just take the inevitable beating and hope they left the water behind so he could just take that home. Maybe he could even use this to his advantage- tell some stories at lunch, get the rest of his peers to start leaving him the fuck alone. He wouldn't mind being that kid who was violent enough to scrap with a pack of Rockets.

Lance didn't make any noise as he was pushed head-first against the alley wall, the Rocket grinding his face into the brick painfully. He was able to catch glimpses of the two in his peripheral vision, but otherwise he was completely blind to their intentions- or, he was, until he felt the jug of water hit him in the head and shoulders, momentarily knocking the sense out of him, and he swore angrily. He was about to growl something at them for it when his legs were kicked out from under him and he began to fall. He was saved from impact by one of the Rockets grabbing him by his hair, and he was grateful for a split second (otherwise he was quite sure he would have landed on that bit of broken glass, and that wouldn't be fun) before he was hauled back to his feet, slugged square in the jaw, and shoved back further into the alley, where he stumbled over his sandals and fell flat on the ground into another pile of broken glass. He swore as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, quite dizzy.

Something was wrong. He wasn't seeing right. Or, well, he was seeing _right_, but the _right_ he was seeing was covered in red, as opposed to how he was seeing _left_ (yeah, he liked puns, so sue 'im). Frowning, he gingerly fingered the area above his right eye, and feeling something sticky, lowered his hand to stare at his fingers through his not-red eye. At first, he wasn't entirely sure what to make of his situation, but slowly, he came to the realization that he was _bleeding_. He was fucking _bleeding_. Not a lot, but _still_.

There was an uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of his stomach- not nausea, or anything, he wasn't _that_ much of a pussy, in fact, and he would never admit this to anyone, but he actually kind of _liked_ the sight of blood. Boy, would his school councilor have a field day with _that_ one... Either way, this _weird_ feeling... He'd never felt anything quite like it, not that he could remember. He wasn't quite sure if he knew how quite to label it, and seeing as how he was leading in his language classes by at least ten points, each, he knew quite a few way to put things in words- and for that matter, he wasn't sure he even liked this feeling. Slowly, he stood, his bloodied hand clenching into a fist. He heard the Rockets laughing behind him.

"Aww, look, Mr. Big Shot here wants s'more," one said.

"Just stay down, kid- unless you want us to cave your head in, this time?" the other taunted. And then one of them was laughing- no, no, it wasn't either of them, it was too close to be either of them- it took Lance a moment to realize that, as with the blood, the laughter was coming from him.

"You? Kill _me_?" he heard himself reply. "Three." Three? The hell was wrong with him? The Rockets seemed to agree.

"Wow, you know how to count? I'm surprised."

"Two."

"Haa, he's even countin' for us- get ready, Kaim, as soon as he's finished..."

"One." Lance really wasn't sure what happened next. All he perceived was a flash- a flash of color, a flash of motion, a flash of sound- and the next thing he knew, he was standing over the bodies of the two rockets, the switchblade he kept in his back pocket clenched in one hand and the jug of water in the other. With something mid-way between a gasp and a startled cry, Lance dropped the jug of water and took several steps back. Were they breathing? Oh, Lugia, tell him they were still breathing, Rocket or not he did _not_ want to go to jail for killing some guys off the street, he _just couldn't do it_.

"...Well, shit, kid." Lance jumped easily and whirled around to find the street vendor he'd passed earlier staring wide-eyed at the scene, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Lance glanced between the fallen Rockets and the street vendor a couple times before attempting to explain himself.

"I... I... look, man, it was self-defense, don't call the cops, please, my Ma-!" The street vendor ignored his pleas and strode passed him, kneeling to check the Rockets before clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"Idiots," the man muttered, "getting beat by some brat..." Lance's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I... sir...?" The man continued to ignore him and pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket, pressing the button and speaking into it.

"Operation's a go, Arch, get Ariana to pull the car around. I'll take care of our friend, but if you could come back me up, I'd definitely appreciate it." Just what was going on, here? Things were getting more bizarre by the minute, Lance thought. Maybe the guy was an undercover cop of some sort? Just as he was pondering how exactly to ask, the purple-haired man (upon closer inspection, Lance came to the conclusion that he wasn't much older than he himself was) smiled at him and put his walkie-talkie away. "Sorry, kid, but this isn't anything personal, just acting on orders."

"Huh?" For the second time that day, Lance found himself shoved back up against the wall, except this time the purple guy was tying his hands behind his back, and before he could start struggling, a black bag was pulled over his head and tied loosely so it wouldn't fall off no matter which way he turned. "_Dude_! The _hell_?!"

"Is this him, P?" a new voice asked.

"Sure is," the purple guy replied. "Check it out- he killed Kaim and Sanders without even blinking."

"That's _Kaim_? His _head's_ caved in. Damn, this kid is violent."

"I _know_, right? That Ariana?" There was a pause before the other voice replied.

"Yeah. Let's hurry, I'd rather like to avoid further complications. We can leave those two there, it's not like they'd be of any use. Get our little psychopath, there, in the car, and keep an eye on him."

"Sure thing, Arch. Alright, bud, let's go..." Lance growled and thrashed as the purple guy pulled him away from the wall and towards the alley's mouth.

"Let go of me, bastard!" Lance snarled. The purple guy simply snickered and shoved him down into somewhere small- comfy, of course, and smelling of new leather, but small nonetheless- and Lance heard the shutting of a car door and felt a small gust of air as it did so. Well, this was just _perfect_. His first time in a legit car in _years_ and he wouldn't even be able to enjoy the scenery. Assholes.

"Is this our guy?" a decidedly female voice asked. "He's pretty scrawny."

"Scrawny or not, he killed two of my guys- and not grunts, either, admins. Archer, is my laptop up there, by any chance?" The car lurched a little, and Lance heard the press of the clutch and shift of gears. Idly, he wondered where they were going.

"Yeah," came Archer's voice from the front passenger seat, "why, need it?"

"Uh-huh. I need to finish my lab report for tox 403, and I can just tell I'm gonna be _swamped_ the rest of the weekend."

"I'm still surprised you're going to _legitimately_ get a Master's, Petrel," said Ariana.

"I know, right? It feels so _weird_ to be doing something _legal_ for once," Petrel replied. Clicking began to fill the air next to him, and Lance could only assume Petrel had already began typing away.

"I think it's pretty damn impressive," Archer commented, "I mean, c'mon, P, you're second-generation. You were an admin the instant you hit _fifteen_."

"Wasn't that when you finished basic?" Ariana sounded rather impressed, and Petrel simply laughed.

"Hey, if you'd grown up with my old man, you'd have tested out just as quick as I did. I swear, the handbook is the man's _bible_. The day I passed the executive exam, we went out for dinner at the _Sapphire __Lugia_ in Celadon."

"_Oooh_,_expensive_, P. I didn't realize your dad could afford _that_ on an admin's pay."

"Well, I mean, we split the check, but still, best corphish I've _ever_ had..." Okay, Lance couldn't just sit in silence, anymore, this was _way_ to normal-sounding for his liking.

"Alright, _one_," he growled, "who the hell _are_ you people, and _two_, where the hell are you _taking me_?"

"Hey, tone it down, kid," Archer replied. "You give us trouble, we dump your body in the nearest ditch, got it?"

"Aw, Arch, play nice, he's just scared." Like hell. "Soooo, I'm Petrel, I'm the youngest, here, and I'm second gen. That other guy is Archer, and he's the Boss' second... He manages everything here in Johto. And _this_ lovely lady is the _beautiful_ Ariana, and she ranks the same as Archer."

"Just go ahead and tell him our life stories while you're at it, P. Oh, and give him the coordinates of the base, too, just to be safe."

"Lay off him, Archer, the kid was gonna find out who we were, anyways."

"That still doesn't answer where we're going," Lance chimed in.

"Alright, alright," Archer sighed. "Okay, so you know how Goldenrod is near Violet, Azalea, Ecruteak, and the Ilex forest?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, we're not going to any of those places." Lance frowned at the inside of his bag and leaned back against the leather seat, resolving not to speak for the remainder of the drive.

That Archer guy was an asshole.

After a long, but amusing series of conversations and random bouts of sing-alongs when they turned the radio on for a while (the entire time, Lance grew more and more frustrated and more and more fidgety), the car stopped, and he listened to Arianna talk to someone outside before they resumed driving for a few more minutes and parked. Once Petrel had put away his computer and got out, he'd opened the door and helped Lance stand before pulling him in what seemed like a completely random direction.

Wherever they were, it sounded busy, and more than once Lance was pulled close enough by people that he heard snippets of conversations regarding heists, arsons, murders, and all sorts of other crimes of varying severity. Nothing particularly jumped out at him, of course, so he didn't remember much of what he heard, but soon he felt cold AC on his skin and found himself wishing the damn bag was off his head so he could actually enjoy the cold. He was seriously starting to work up a sweat in the damn thing, and it didn't exactly smell like roses.

He was forced into an elevator and began tapping his foot impatiently as they stood around in silence. Soon enough, the doors opened and Petrel pushed him out and began leading him around somewhere, taking a few turns before stopping.

"Has Master Giovanni arrived, yet?" came Archer's voice from next to him. Lance jumped at least a foot, and Petrel began laughing. He hadn't realized the others were still with them. This couldn't have been a regular Team Rocket kidnapping, could it? Did regular people get taken by _executives_?

"Yes," came a reply, "he's in your office, Executive Archer. He said to send you in as soon as you returned."

"Good. Thank you. Let's continue, Petrel, Ariana, no point in keeping him waiting." Yeah, definitely not a regular kidnapping. Why was some impoverished kid like _him_ being taken to the boss? Where those Rockets in the alleyway high-ranking, or something? Oh, shit, what had he gotten himself _into_? Before he could even begin thinking about making a break for it, Petrel forced him forward and they walked further, taking even more turns before stopping once more, and Lance heard someone knocking on a door- maybe some kind of wood, he wasn't sure- and the calm order for them to enter. He began thrashing again as Petrel shoved him through the doorway and down onto a chair.

"Well, well, and this must be our guest. Be a good host and get the bag off his head, eh, Petrel? Poor boy's probably sweating up a storm."

"Yes, Sir. Hold still, Lance..." Lance growled as Petrel removed the ties and pulled the bag off, dropping it on the floor behind the chair. Lance immediately squinted, the light in the office bright and harsh compared to the complete blackness that had been in the bag.

It took him a moment to adjust, but as soon as he did, he stole a glance around. Seated behind him were the executives- Petrel on his right, and on his left a red-head and a bluenette that he identified as Ariana and Archer, respectively. The office itself had white walls, bright as though it had been painted recently, and a charming frosted glass desk with a computer and a fancy pen holder on it. The man seated at the desk, of course, was what drew his full attention, olive-skinned and clean-shaven, with hair slicked back, a casual suit, and sharp black eyes.

"_Holy_- you're the Viridian Gym Leader!" Lance blurted out before he could stop himself. "_Fuck_! My dad was _friends_ with you! _You're_ the boss of Team Rocket?!"

"You've gotten taller," Giovanni replied, not appearing shocked in the least by Lance's outburst. "Skinnier, too. I don't suppose your mother drinking away her and your salaries _both_ helped much with that."

"Hey! Watch what you say 'bout my ma, you Lugia-damned sonuva-!"

"Archer?" Before Lance could finish his insult, and before his name had even Giovanni's mouth, Archer had practically leaped from his seat, growling angrily as he grabbed Lance painfully by his hair and backhanded him, hard.

"Don't you _dare_ speak that way to Master Giovanni, you filthy piece of trash!" he bluenette snarled.

"Sit, boy," Giovanni deadpanned. Archer scowled and cast Lance a dirty glare before returning to his seat. "Now, Lance, I know you're smart- in fact, you're even smarter than your father, in my opinion. Smart enough to know how _not_ to disappear. You wouldn't want to leave your mother all alone, now, would you?" Lance merely glowered at him, shaking green bangs out of his face in the process.

"...What do you want from me?" he finally asked. Giovanni slowly smirked.

"That would actually be very many things, Lance- very many things, indeed. Of course, there is one thing above all else I hope to gain out of our meeting today."

"And that would be?"

"You." Lance frowned, and slowly raised an eyebrow.

"...Dude, I'm sixteen, ain't I a little young for you...?" Once more, Giovanni didn't look the least bit surprised.

"That was wrong and you should feel wrong," the gym leader replied without missing a beat. "I want you in my organization, Lance. If you're even half as smart as your father, I _need_ you in my organization."

"I don't want to be anything like my dad." Lance slowly shook his head. "That _asshole_ cheated on Ma. It's _his_ fault that we ended up where we are."

"And you can fix everything." Giovanni's fierce gaze seemed to be staring straight into his soul. "You can save your mother from her vices and, eventually, even afford nice living accommodations for her. Don't you owe her that much, Lance?" Lance's frown deepend.

"Well, I... _yeah_, but... I mean, you guys are _criminals_, and... Well, if I ever got _arrested_..." He lowered his gaze to the floor and thought for a moment. "...Would I get a pokemon?"

"Sure," Giovanni replied, shrugging one shoulder, "what species were you thinking of?"

"I... _really_ like zubat, actually... Well, zubat and slowpoke, but you probably have more zubat than slowpoke, right?" Giovanni nodded.

"Very well," he agreed, "you agree to join, and I'll throw in the zubat. What say you?"

"Give me the weekend to think." The entire room became silent, and Lance thought he might have just pushed his luck, when, to his surprise, Giovanni turned to Petrel.

"Take him home and keep an eye on him. He or his mother call the cops, you leave no witnesses. He comes to a decision early, you bring him back, otherwise, I want the two of you back here on Monday by noon. Am I understood?" Petrel hopped to his feet and snapped off a flawless salute.

"Yes, Sir," he replied, "your wish is my command. I'll see you Monday, Sir. Guys." He leaned down to grab the bag.

"Petrel?" Giovanni said patiently. "How long has it been since that thing's been washed?" Petrel paused and glanced between the bag and Giovanni cautiously.

"Not more than a month," the purple-haired executive replied innocently.

"_Petrel_..." Petrel lowered his head like a scolded puppy and sighed, stuffing the bag into his pocket and withdrawing a pair of blackout shades.

"_Fine_... Here, Lance, wear these..."

When they had gotten back to the outskirts of town, Petrel cut Lance's bindings and allowed him to remove the blackout glasses, returning to him his switchblade and, amusingly enough, a jug of water. It had gotten late- eight o' clock, in fact- and Lance was certain his mother would be in hysterics when he went inside. Or high as fuck. It was a fifty-fifty chance, really. Petrel had told him he would hanging around the house on surveillance, and that Lance was not allowed to leave the lot, nor summon the police, or as Giovanni had instructed, there would be no witnesses. Other than that, the executive had wished him a pleasant evening and went to go find a quiet place to continue working on his lab report.

"Lance!" As Lance had expected, his mother jumped him the instant he walked inside, and he smiled a little, despite the crushing hug. "Oh, Lance, honey, I was worried _sick_ about you! You should have been home _ages_ ago, I was about to call the police!"

"I'm fine, Ma," Lance laughed, "I just got a little preoccupied. I'm sorry for making you worry, but... Here's the water you wanted me to get." He held up the jug proudly and his mother released him from her death-grip, gazing at the water only momentarily before glancing up at his face, and she gasped.

"Oh my Lugia! Honey, what happened?! Your _face_... is that _blood_?" Lance winced and rubbed at the dried blood on his forehead.

"Yeah," he sighed, "I ran into a bit of trouble with some Rockets outside of the store, but... Well, I'm fine, Ma, don't worry."

"Rockets?" His mother frowned and turned, heading towards the kitchenette. "Those scum... we need to call the police, Lance, and have them found before they can come back after you." Lance blinked.

"But... Ma, I'm _fine_, I gave them a pretty sound beat-down, it's all over, now..."

"Honey, they're going to be _back_. They'll track you down, and- _is that one outside_?!" Lance's head whipped around and he stared outside to see Petrel's silhouette wandering around outside of their lot with his laptop. Ahh, fuck his life. He heard the pressing of buttons, and his eyes widened and he turned around.

"_Hello, this is 911, what's your emergency?_" _SHIT._

"Yes, my name is-" Quickly, Lance leaped and pressed the call cut button, snatching the phone out of his mother's hands. "_Lance_! What do you think you're _doing_?!"

"Ma, shush!" Lance hissed. "Look, we need to talk about something important, alright...? It's... it's about why I was held up, see, Petrel, there, is an Executive in Team Rocket, and he took me to meet his boss-"

"_No_," his mother said in that tone of hrs that, under normal circumstances, ended all discussion. "No, _Lance_, you listen to me, you're not going to join that gang, do you understand?"

"But _Ma_, we could be making two, maybe even three times what we're making now," Lance replied, "we could actually rent an _honest to goodness_ apartment!"

"And my son throws away the rest of his life?" she demanded. "_Over my dead body_." Stupid woman. Stupid, _stupid_ woman.

"Dammit, Ma!" Lance snapped. "How the hell _else_ are we going to get by when you keep spending all of our cash on fucking _crack_?! It's not like I can even go battle trainers in town, either! You _ruined_ my chance to get my Lugia-damned Trainer's license!"

"_Lance_-!"

"No, Ma! I'm going through with this, and you're not ruining this, too!" He was getting that feeling again, the same one he'd felt in the alleyway with the two Rockets, along with a hot, blinding rage. How _dare_ she try to screw this up for him?! Didn't she realize he was doing it to save _her_?! Didn't she understand that this was their _only_ option for a better life?! Suddenly, she darted around him in a mad dash for the door. The good-for-nothing _bitch!_

All Lance became aware of was his own exploding rage, time and motion passing by him in a blur, and he was no longer sure of what, exactly, he was doing, nor what was going on. All he knew was a howl of anger erupted from deep within his throat, and someone screamed, and the next thing he was conscious of was the fact that he was staring down at his mother's fresh corpse, his own switchblade sticking out of her neck as blood pooled and stained the floor. And the worst part?

He didn't care. He expected himself to be upset by this development- or numb, even. In denial about what he had done, despite barely even being able to remember it. But instead all he could think of was that the knife's path must have surely been a work of art, if where it was lodged was any indication, and he was sorely put-off that he couldn't even _remember_ it. After a moment the door burst open and Petrel entered, looking cautious and weary.

"I heard screaming," he said, "what happened?" Lance simply motioned to his mother's corpse, and Petrel stared down at her for a moment before turning a suspicious gaze on him.

"She tried to call the cops," he explained. "Giovanni said no witnesses. The 911 desk picked up, actually, they've probably traced the call by now and have dispatched some officers. Maybe an ambulance." Petrel nodded.

"I'll go pull the car around," he said, "you get anything you need and meet me outside in sixty seconds." He darted off, and Lance turned to his box off in the corner, going to rummage through it and pull out the couple pokeballs he'd lifted once from the Mart before closing up. He was about to leave when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something on the table. There was a cupcake with a single candle in it, a small, brightly colored package, and a plush slowpoke like he'd had when he was a child, all sitting on top of his calculus book. Curiously, Lance stopped to open the card that was sitting on the edge of the table.

_Happy 17th to my favorite son._

_Love, Mom_

Lance frowned and set the card down, shredding the wrapping on the box and opening it to find a shiny, brand-new graphing calculator- and not one of those cheap ones, but a seriously _good_ one, the kind they required for the AP engineering classes he'd been looking to take next year. Slowly, a small smile broke out over Lance's lips and he snorted, putting both the calculator and the slowpoke plushie in his knapsack with the pokeballs.

"Love you, too, Ma." He stepped carefully around her corpse and paused to retrieve and stow his switchblade. "Sorry about... _this_. Especially the stain, I dunno how _that's_ ever gonna come out of the carpet. I probably won't see you for a while, but I'll come back and visit." There would have been a time in his life when he would have questioned his own sanity for talking to his own mother's corpse- and so jovially, as well- but he supposed that time was long gone. Lance had never been one to really dwell on the past (there were a few exceptions, of course, like the fact that everything would have been better if his father hadn't cheated on his mother) and so he didn't bother trying to figure out when he'd developed such a powerful bloodlust, or what could have even- _hey_, he finally figured out what to call the stomach-pit feeling! He was on _fire_, tonight!

As he slipped into the passenger seat of Petrel's car, this time with free hands and no bags or blackout glasses, Lance couldn't help but wonder what sort of jobs Giovanni was interested in having him do. Apparently, whatever they were, they required some sort of mental aptitude. Either way, Lance was really just hoping whatever it was, it involved more blood. Really, it was something he could definitely get used to.

* * *

It had been three weeks since he'd joined Team Rocket on his birthday, and Lance had sped through training at an alarming rate. He had passed the admin exams with flying colors, and was currently studying under Petrel's mentorship. He was due to take the executive exams in a few more weeks.

Life had certainly become better now that he was in Team Rocket and away from his mother's excessive drinking and drug use. He'd been able to take showers every day, slept in an entire room all his own in the little apartment he shared with Petrel, and ate his fill in the cafeteria on the ground floor of the base. He'd even gotten his hair cut professionally, and what was eve better, Giovanni had made good on his promise, and the instant Lance had agreed to join, handed him a pokeball with a rather shy zubat living inside.

Currently, Lance was sitting on the roof of the base, legs clad in knee-high boots hanging off the edge. Twitch (his zubat) was perched on his shoulder, and the two simply sat around in silence as he took intermittent drags on his cigarette. The sun was just starting to rise, a golden light peeking across the base's grounds, and Lance was so lost within the beauty of it all that he almost didn't realize it when Petrel plopped down next to him.

"It's nice out, this early in the morning, isn't it, Lance?" the purple-haired executive asked after a moment. Lance smiled to himself, but didn't reply. Petrel raised an eyebrow at him. "Lance, buddy? You home?"

"It's not 'Lance'." Petrel blinked and he laughed. "I'm not going to answer that name, any more. Lance is dead, Petrel."

"Well, now." Petrel nudged him. "What's your name then, psycho?" He laughed again and stretched, laying back to get a better view of the slowly brightening sky. He laid there in silence for a while, but as always, Petrel played his game with patience that could outmatch a guard growlithe.

"Call me Proton."

* * *

**AN: Well, that was longer than I'd thought it would be. I'd like to thank Starkid Productions for inspiring with their track from the _Starship_ OST, "Kick it Up a Notch". This is the first time I've ever tried to write for the HGSS executives, so any feedback or criticisms would be much appreciated.  
**

**Every time you review, you keep Proton from cutting off slowpoke tails. Save a slowpoke. Review a chapter.  
**


	2. Ruined Plans

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon or any related characters.

"You're a fucking idiot." Petrel glanced up from his laptop and peered at his roommate and closest friend, Proton, who was, as usual, scowling down at him. Petrel couldn't help but grin and leaned back in his rolley chair, folding his hands behind his head and placing his boot-clad feet on his desk.

"What'd I do, this time, Pro?" the purple-haired Rocket replied. Proton's scowl deepened and he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

"You screwed up in Goldenrod, that's what," the greenette snapped. He gestured broadly towards the city's general direction. "The target's still alive, and the police are crawling all over the damn city." Petrel snorted.

"Hey, not my problem," he protested, "I already got out of that cesspool, and even with the target still alive, I _completed_ my mission. He can't possibly send me back after _that_."

"Yeah, he ain't," his friend agreed. "He's sendin' someone else, Petrel, and can you guess _who_?" Petrel frowned and took a moment to actually give the question some thought. He grabbed a handful of pretzels from the bowl next to his keyboard and munched for a second before finally answering.

"...I dunno. Those guys from the Silver Squad, Bashou and Buson?"

"He's sending _me_, ass!"

"Oh. ...So? You're a big boy, Pro, you can handle a handful of cops. I've seen what you do to guys in sparring, you'll be _fine_."

"This isn't about the cops, dammit!" Of course it wasn't. Petrel knew _exactly_ what it was about, and honestly, he wasn't surprised. It hadn't even been a year since the incident that led Proton into joining up with Team Rocket, and it had taken place in that very city. Petrel had been spying on him for months prior, though he had never understood why until Proton had finally received his position and list of duties.

Unlike the multitude that were in Kanto, the Johto branch of Team Rocket only had the four Executives- he and Proton and Ariana and Archer. Between the four of them, they had to oversee every single department of Team Rocket, and before Proton had arrived, Petrel and the others had simply been _sharing_ the engineering and security departments. Quite contrary to how he acted, Proton was smart, with a deep understanding of physics and other areas of science Petrel had only ever dabbled in, himself. Overall, it wasn't so surprising, because as it turned out, Proton's father had been one of the Silph scientists working on the research and development of pokeballs- in fact, he had been part of the team that had invented the Masterball, and for all its glory, it apparently hadn't been strong enough for the Boss' likings. That was where Proton came in. That was why he was recruited, whether he knew it or not.

In general, of course, that entire escapade that had happened no doubt shook Petrel's friend up pretty badly, even if he never showed it. Well, not 'never'- the teen had flat-out refused to go anywhere near Goldenrod after that, not that Petrel could really blame him. Then again, this could be good for him, and maybe it would get him to finally pick up that damn calculator he hadn't touched since he'd moved in.

"It's not like you can do anything about it," Petrel finally sighed. "Even if you take it to the Boss, he'll tell you to get over it. Archer's word is law, here, Pro, you know that." Proton rolled his eyes and went to go sit on the couch and pout, mumbling something about those "damned, second-gen Rockets". Petrel simply snickered. "Soooo, when do you leave?"

"'Bout five. Fuckin' stupid..." Petrel immediately sat up, his grin replaced easily by a frown.

"Whoa, whoa, five _this evening_? Dammit, it's _movie night_, I've got _Men in Black_ and _everything_!"

"Oh, _now_ you're upset." Proton sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes before pushing himself back to his feet. "I need to get my stuff. Maybe you can try and get some girls to come up, or something, I dunno. _Twitch! _Come here, we're going out!" Petrel snorted as he watched Proton's zubat flit out of his room and land on its trainer's shoulder.

"_Girls_... _right_. Like _that'll_ ever happen."

"C'mon, P, give yourself some credit. You just need to dangle your hook in the right waters, is all. Lemme know how things went when I get back, yeah?"

"Of course. You, too, bud. I won't forgive you if you get caught- we still have a damn movie to watch, you know." Proton smirked and fired off a quick salute on his way out the door, and Petrel gave a mighty yawn and removed his reading glasses. Welp, there went all of _his_ plans for the night. As for the whole 'girls' thing, well... Maybe Ariana would want to watch a movie, later. On the bright side, at least there wouldn't be any debates over whether or not slowpoke tail would make a good substitute for whatever meat Petrel decided to include in his dinner. Except now he really wanted a sandwich.

Frowning, he glanced between the clock and his half-finished mission report. He _really_ needed to submit it ASAP, but... well, dammit, he was _hungry_! As he pondered whether to eat first and finish his report later, his father's words rang out inside his head: _our loyalty is to the Team first, and ourselves second. Don't be afraid to sacrifice anything for the good of the organization, Petrel. Do your job, do it right, and don't stop until it's finished. _The purple-haired executive let out a long, suffering sigh and stretched in his seat before putting his glasses back on and resuming his typing.

"Damn you, Dad," he muttered, "I just want a fucking _sandwich_."


	3. Lunch Break

Disclaimer: Pokemon belongs to Nintendo, the Pokemon Company, and GameFreak.

The best thing about working for Team Rocket, Proton decided, was being able to eat on a regular basis- and not just eat, but cook, and eat _well_, with ingredients that were actually of an _edible_ quality. For instance, at the moment, he was concocting a rather delectable-smelling stew with fresh meat, organic vegetables, and even some bourbon for flavoring. It smelled positively heavenly, and he could barely wait for it to finish cooking. Once or twice, in fact, he'd considered digging in the fridge for Petrel's leftover sandwich, just to tide him over until he could try his stew, but considering Petrel had been saving said leftovers for his _own_ lunch, and that there hadn't been much left, Proton couldn't bring himself to eat it. Also, Petrel seemed to like everything doused in hot sauce and with jalapeños, and that never really sat well with Proton's stomach. Sometimes he had to wonder if his friend had managed to burn his taste buds out.

His stew was five minutes to being finished when Proton realized something: Petrel was working. When he was working, he didn't leave wherever he was working until he finished whatever he was working on. He'd wanted to eat the remainder of his sandwich for lunch, but his sandwich was here, in their fridge. It didn't exactly take a genius to realize that unless Proton did something about it, Petrel wasn't going to eat, that day, and he felt a little silly for not realizing his friend's dilemma, sooner. He wouldn't mind letting his stew simmer a little while he ran Petrel's lunch to him, but... well... it'd been a while since the two of them had been able to sit down and eat lunch together like normal people, what with how busy they'd become recently.

Five minutes later found Proton spooning generous amounts of his stew into two separate tupperware containers, grabbing some plastic cutlery, and retrieving Petrel's leftovers from the fridge before he grabbed his keycard and left their apartment, strolling casually towards the elevator. Generally, Petrel worked with the medical and science departments, splitting his time between playing doctor, ordering the grunts around in the public labs, and working on his own experiments in his private lab. He probably had some sort of schedule, but Proton never really paid attention to it, in the first place- they were all on the same floor, anyways, so it wasn't like he'd have to hop all over the place like he did when he went looking for Archer.

He poked his head into one of the major labs and glanced around before catching the eye of one of the scientists, there, who excused herself from the conversation she'd been having with one of her colleagues and approached him.

"Executive Proton," she greeted, "it's a surprise to see you, here. Were you coming to manage us for the day, or did you need something, Sir?" Proton glanced around one more time and then shrugged one shoulder.

"I'm looking for Petrel," he said after a moment. "I got the day off, noticed he left his lunch in the fridge, again, didn't wanna hear him whining when he got back from work." The scientist smiled softly.

"Of course, Sir. Executive Petrel is working on his own projects, today. He stopped to give us our orders, this morning, but otherwise he hasn't been in here all day." Proton flashed her a smirk and mentally snickered when she straightened her posture the slightest bit and blushed a little.

"Thanks, doll," he said before spinning on his heel. "Now get back to work!" Petrel's office was on the far side of the floor, wedged right in between the two departments he manned as a sort of transition. While the rest of the labs on the floor had merely brass plates depicting the lab numbers, it seemed Petrel had seen fit to remove his nameplate altogether, spray paint "Petrel's Office" in unown stencils across where said nameplate had once been, and attach a cork board right underneath that served no purpose but to be a place where both Petrel and his subordinates could pin up funny printouts, doodles, and other completely random things. Over time more and more people had begun pinning things up, and so now, on either side of the door, were two more cork boards, large and long and covered, themselves, in pictures, funny lab report copies, and just amusing things in general. Proton paused to admire one rather well-done stick drawing of Petrel holding he, himself, over his head and declaring in all caps that he "found Proton", to which Archer was replying "are you positive?" before opening the door carefully and stepping inside.

Petrel's lab was well-lit, and smelled of cigarette smoke. The walls were a pristine white, the floor cold concrete, and there were lab stations almost everywhere in the room. Petrel's desk was in the back of the room, facing the door, and flanked on two sides by whiteboards attached to the wall. Chemical equations were scrawled in the purple executive's horrible handwriting everywhere, as well as more of Petrel' bored doodles. Petrel, himself, was standing in front of the whiteboard on the back wall, stroking his goatee thoughtfully as he peered at something Proton couldn't quite see. He was wearing a white lab coat over his regular uniform, but with his gloves off and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, Proton was surprised by how natural it all seemed- then again, he always was.

"It's an artistic masterpiece, isn't it?" Petrel said once Proton had strode up next to him. He was referring, of course, to the poorly-drawn rayquaza fighting an equally poorly-drawn mudkip. For all of his intelligence, an artist Petrel was _not_.

"It's beautiful," Proton deadpanned, "get that shit in a museum, man." Petrel simply laughed and leaned back against the table behind them.

"Don't quit my day job, right?" he replied. "I need more adderall. I've been in here all morning, and this is probably the most I've actually finished. I'm glad my dad still lives in Celadon, he'd be pissed if he knew how much I goofed off. So!" He removed his reading glasses and dropped them into the breast pocket of his lab coat, grinning. "To what do I owe the pleasure, psycho?" Proton waved his tupperware.

"You left your sandwich in the fridge. I thought you might appreciate being able to eat lunch. Also, I brought you some stew." Petrel's eyes lit up at the mention of food, and he waited patiently as Proton separated the two containers and pulled the plastic spoons out of his pocket. "So, P, whatchya workin' on in here?" Petrel was a little too busy tearing through his sandwich to answer, and so he simply motioned to the chemical equations and shorthand notes on his whiteboard.

"Genetic engineering," he said once he had swallowed enough of his sandwich to talk. "I think I've got the decay down, and I tweaked the serum, a little. I'm convinced, Pro- this time, we got a winner. It's gonna _work_. I've got a prisoner who wandered into our Mahogany base, last week, that they're gonna bring me to test on. Today he's just as human as we are (Proton snorted at that), but in several day's time, the little punk's gonna be more of a slimy raticate than my brother is." Proton raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't know you had a brother," he replied evenly. "He's that bad, huh?" Petrel rolled his eyes.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea. I mean, Dad was always saying he didn't have favorites, but Viper..." He sighed. "See, no matter how hard I trained, I could never bulk up like my little bro or my dad did, and my dad's a pretty high-ranking trainer in the HQ back in Celadon. He wasn't impressed when the aptitude test landed me in the science department, even if I _was_ starting as a Lugia-damned admin. And... well, yeah, we celebrated when I got promoted to Exec, but Viper'd gone into the training department like he did, and he was always so much more _proud_ of him than he was of me, and...You know, sibling rivalry, and all that."

"Only child," Proton reminded him. "Silbing rivalries are foreign to me, P." Petrel laughed.

"Yeah, I suppose they would be, wouldn't they?" He'd finished his sandwich, and as Proton had expected, it wasn't enough (Ariana was always mentioning how envious she was of the two of them, because, as she put it, they were "able to eat like snorlax and never gain any weight"), and the greenette watched curiously as his friend started on the stew, next. "Holy _fuck._ Proton, this is _delicious_. What'd you make it with?" Proton simply smirked.

"You've gotta guess," he said as he place the lid back on his own, now-empty tupperware. "Go on. You should be able to get most of it." Petrel frowned thoughtfully and took another taste, thinking it over very carefully.

"Alright, alright... I taste... bourbon... chicken stock... obviously the taste of the carrots, potatoes, onions... Annnd... I'm gonna say basil, thyme, salt and pepper, and possibly even a splash of teriyaki." He glanced up. "How'd I do?" Proton gave him a golph clap.

"Once again, your sense of taste amazes me," he commended. "Though there's no teriyaki, but I kinda know why it tastes like that." Petrel took another spoonful.

"Mm- one thing, though: what kind of meat it this? It sorta tastes like a mix between salami and roasted chicken, maybe with a hint of ham..." He paused his chewing as Proton's smirk grew into an incredibly wide grin. "...Pro...?"

"So you like it, then?" he asked. "It's good?"

"...Pro, what did you put in my stew...?"

"But you _liked_ it, _right_?"

"Pro, seriously, what the _hell_ did you put in my stew?" Proton snickered a bit before replying.

"It's _slowpoke tail_, Petrel." Petrel's eyes widened, jaw dropping slightly as he stared down at the stew he had actually eaten over half of before his stomach heaved, and his hand flew to his mouth as he set the tupperware to the side and slid off thew table, running to retch into the biohazard trash can. Proton couldn't help but laugh. "Aw, _c'mon_, P, you said you liked it!" As soon as he was able, Petrel scowled at Proton over his shoulder.

"I fucking _hate_ you," he choked out. Quickly, however, he had to turn and retch again, and Proton only laughed harder. That was _so_ worth it. As he sat there, practically howling as he laughed his ass off, he couldn't help but wonder just what he should cook for dinner.


	4. High-Per-Potion

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. If I did, the HGSS Executives would be returning in a future game for MAX WINNAGE.

In retrospect to their current situation (that being, the two of them were sitting in Archer's office being chewed out royally for their little escapade), Proton had to say it was all Petrel's fault, and he never should have trusted the purple-haired Executive in the first place, especially when he took into account that his friend had probably still been harboring a grudge over that whole 'tricking him into eating slowpoke' thing. Honestly, he whined about it often enough, Proton was just surprised it'd taken him so long to get back at him- nearly three weeks, to be exact! Not to say that Petrel's so-called revenge hadn't been _fun_, but... Proton wasn't really sure if it was worth getting lectured by Archer, again.

Well, if he had to be fair, it wasn't _entirely_ Petrel's fault... Really, Proton scolded himself, he should have known better...

* * *

Lugia, had _that_ been a long day. Proton scowled at the paperwork that he hadn't managed to finish, yet. It barely seemed like he'd put a _dent_ in the damned stack, and with the rest of the week already packed with his duties as the head enforcer, it looked like he'd be pulling a _lot_ of overtime if he wanted to get it all turned in on time. There'd been absolutely nothing about how _boring_ this position was in the job description, but he supposed if Giovanni had come clean and told him, he wouldn't have even _gone_ for the Executive position- in fact, he _still_ wasn't sure why the Gym Leader had wanted him to get promoted so _quickly_. Petrel seemed to have an idea, but of course, it was one of the many things the asshole kept to himself. He was too good at being a Rocket.

With a suffering sigh, Proton neatened the stacks of papers and stood, grabbing his things as he began to lock up his office for the day. It wasn't anything special- in fact, just looking inside, his office seemed more like a storage room than an office, what with shelves towering high with all sorts of wires and parts and boxes. His desk was turned to face the window, so if he ever got too bored he could just look outside, and in the very back were his workbench and drafting station. Overall, it was a cozy little nook, and he had picked it out specifically for its seclusion in the corner of the fourth floor. It also had a prime location, close to the elevators, so if they needed him down in the Underground (alternatively called the dungeons), he'd be able to get there, quick. It also meant at the end of the day, he could pack as quickly as he could and get the fuck out of there- just like back in school, come to think of it.

Today as he rode the elevator back up to his own floor, he couldn't help but notice his growing headache, and winced. There was _so much_ to prepare for, Boss wanted them to set up an entire extra base somewhere closer to the Whirl Islands, and _Proton_ was on security detail. He was in charge of when they left, what method of transportation they would use, what times of the day they were allowed to work on construction, and when all of _that_ was finished, he had to figure out which security systems they would need to protect the damn place, and which and how many of his men got to transfer there. On top of it all, he had absolutely no idea what this new base was supposed to be for, nor how large it would be or how crucial it was to Team Rocket's mission. Most of his current decisions were based on guesswork, alone. He'd have to catch Archer, tomorrow.

When he got into his apartment, he found Petrel sitting at his computer desk, as usual, though for once he seemed to be goofing off online rather than actually working on anything. It was a refreshing change of pace- usually when he got home, Petrel was so wrapped up in work that he wouldn't notice Proton until he went over and yanked the headphones out of his ears to greet him. This time, Petrel glanced up as soon as Proton had removed his shoes, and grinned.

"Hey, Pro!" he called. "You look pissed. Hey, come play this game with me, I was playing with some guys from the Kanto base, but they had to get back to work, so I've just been running around random maps an' shit..."

"Hey, Petrel," Proton sighed. He ignored the invitation to join the game and went over to fall face-first into their rather comfortable couch. Petrel laughed.

"Awwww, I've seen _that_ before. Somebody's had a rough day."

"Hnng." Proton remained face-down for a second before propping himself up on his elbows and peering at Petrel over the cushions. "Do we have any ibuprofen, or somethin'? My head's _killin_ me..." Petrel gave him an apologetic look and shrugged.

"Sorry, I used up the last of it. Archer slated me for training, today, and that little prick I was sparring with popped my shoulder out of its socket..." His friend frowned and rubbed his shoulder as he thought about the injury. "I popped it back, but it still hurt like a _bitch_..." Proton simply whined in reply and rolled onto his back, pulling one of the pillows to his chest.

"Archer's giving me _way_ too much work, right now," he said. "This whole base construction thing is just the top of the heap, man! I gotta take care of those idiots who landed themselves in U-4 the other day for scrappin', Archer wants new security cameras, and addin' insult to injury, my Lugia-damn research's hit a dead end and Boss is getting' _impatient_. I'm just not sure if I can deliver on time."

"You know," Petrel mused, "this is weird. Usually _I'm_ the whiny bitch in these situations. Huh. Well, either way, I think I got just the solution to your problem. Gimme a sec, alright?" Proton huffed as he watched Petrel pause his game and stand, going into his room. There were a few seconds in which he heard his friend rummaging around, but soon enough, he was back, and holding in his hand a muave-colored spray bottle with a pokeball printed on the side. Proton blinked.

"...Petrel."

"Yeah?"

"That's a Hyper Potion."

"Yeah."

"Petrel, those are for pokemon." Petrel grinned broadly and went into the kitchenette, getting two shot glasses down from one of the cupboards. Proton watched, somewhat amused, as the purple-haired executive popped the top off of the potion and poured equal amounts into the shot glasses before sitting on the edge of the couch and offering Proton one. Proton sat up and took it, peering down at the clear liquid suspiciously. "We'd probably be poisoned, or something. No way I'm drinking this."

"_Relax, _Pro! I've checked it out, there's nothing toxic to humans in these things. We'll be _fine_." With a sly look, Petrel raised his shotglass as if in toast. Proton regarded him dubiously. "C'mon, man. Trust me. I'm a doctor." Far from it, actually, but Proton didn't have the energy to protest.

"Oh, what the hell." He clinked his shotglass against Petrel's. "Cheers."

* * *

Lugia, everything was so freaking _funny_. The goofy look on Petrel's face, the way the walls were swaying, the entire visible light spectrum that had decided to take residence on their ceiling... Proton couldn't help but laugh and laugh and laugh, and neither could Petrel it seemed. Really, he wasn't quite sure why he'd been so frustrated, earlier. The sheer amount of work he still had to do was _hilarious_.

"Dude! Dude, dude, dude!" Petrel wheezed out in between his laughs.

"Yeah?" Proton replied, managing to calm down long enough to listen to his friend speak.

"_Slowpoke tails_." And that set off another round of hysterical laughter, with Proton falling backwards and rolling slightly. Petrel probably would have, as well, but he was propped against the side of the couch, whereas Proton had migrated out into the empty space next to the coffee table. Haha, "migrated". That was a funny word. It sounded like "migraine".

"Wait!" Proton gasped once he was able to sit back up, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. "Wait, wait, man... man... wait... hear me out... hear me out..." Petrel bit down on his knuckles to silence himself and nodded encouragingly. "_Giant... slowpoke_."

"Holy shit!" he agreed. "Dude! You're a _genius_! Hey- hey, let's tell Giovanni! Let's send him a letter!"

"Yeah, alright! Here- here- here, I'll write, go get an envelope-y thingy..." As Petrel stumbled to his feet and staggered towards his desk to look for said envelopes, Proton pushed himself to his knees and shuffled over to the coffee table, grabbing a napkin and a pen that were lying around and getting to work on writing what he was convinced was a coherent project suggestion. In reality it barely made any sense, as only the words "giant", "slowpoke" and "world domination" were legible.

"Duuuuuuuuuude!" Petrel was hovering over him with the envelope, now, eyes wide as he stared at the chicken scratch on the paper. "You're writing in 3-D!"

"Shit, man!" Proton replied, just as amazed. "Quick, quick, get the 3-D glasses!" They were gushing over how awesome it was to be able to write in 3-D when there was a knock on their door, and when they didn't reply, Archer opened it and stepped inside. He stopped immediately upon seeing his comrades flopping around like drunkards and his eyes narrowed.

"And just what are you two doing, hm?" he asked. Proton glanced up at him and gasped.

"Petrel- Petrel, look, Archer's in 3-D, too!" Petrel glanced up, as well, and immediately stumbled over, poking at Archer's side.

"Whooooooa!" he said, "it's like I can touch him!" Archer shoved him away and began to inspect the den. When he came across the now-empty hyper potion bottle, he scowled, his lip curling in disgust.

"Dammit, you two!" he snapped. "Getting high off of potions, I swear..."

"Archer! Archer, Archer, Archer, Archen! Archen, dude!" Proton had managed to stand and was now pressing the envelope containing the napkin into Archer's hand. "Archen, this has to get to Giovanni, okay?"

"Oh, yes," Archer agreed angrily, "it'll get to Master Giovanni, all right. You two are to be at my office first thing tomorrow morning- if either of you are late, I'll make sure you _both_ regret it." Without another word, Archer brushed Petrel aside and turned on his heel, storming out of their apartment. Both Petrel and Proton were silent for a moment after that, until Petrel, his mouth slowly growing into a grin, turned to Proton.

"Hey... hey, Pro..."

"Yeah?"

"_Slowpoke tails_." Their hyena-like laughter followed Archer all the way to the elevator.

* * *

Proton growled under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He really, really should have known better. Now here they were, getting yelled at and threatened with U-4, all the while knowing that Archer had delivered their ridiculous napkin-letter to the Boss.

His headache had come back, full-force.

It had taken three hours of Archer shouting and lecturing before he let the two of them go, but not after informing them that he had forbidden the supply team to give them access to any more potions for the next couple months. Until their ban was lifted, they had to use the base's Pokecenter. Just one more thing to worry about, then.

"That sucked," Petrel said lightly as they made their way into the elevator.

"Majorly," Proton agreed. "Never again, P. Never again."

"I'm just kind of glad he didn't rat me out to my dad. I'd be disowned before I could say 'it was Proton's fault'." The greenette scowled as the elevator lurched and began its ascent.

"The hell do you mean, my fault?" he snapped. "It was _your _idea!" Petrel smiled and cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but you didn't wanna play games with me or anything, how the hell else was I supposed to make ya smile?" Proton snorted and the two were silent for the remainder of the ride. As they stepped out onto their floor and fell in stride with each other, Petrel's smile turned into his trademark grin, and he glanced down at Proton, who was anything but amused.

"What now?"

"How do you feel about snorting revival herbs?"


	5. Keychain Games

Disclaimer: If I owned Pokemon, I probably would be making all of this cannon. _All of it_.

It was an odd occurrence when something from the world outside became increasingly popular within the base. In fact, the last time Petrel had remembered such a fad taking root was back when he was a kid and, somehow, someone had managed to steal an entire shipment of Super Famicoms and began selling them at the base's convenience store. He remembered that he and Viper had played for days on end, with such games as _Megaman X_ and _Castlevania IV_ (admittedly, the only games they had for a long, long while), and that the best discussions to be had during lunch with the other kids were the kind that led the discovery of all of the games' hidden secrets. He'd been especially proud to have been the first one in the base to find the hadouken upgrade in _Megaman_, and to that extent, the first to defeat Sigma.

Of course, what seemed to be circulating around the base now was far inferior in terms of technology- it was small, yes, and portable, but boasted only that. Its LED screen was tiny, and lacked any real color besides green and darker green, and it wasn't even really a game of any sort- it was a virtual pet keychain. Most of the grunts seemed to carry them, and they came in all colors, shapes, and brands. Most of them had some sort of connection feature that allowed for fighting or some kind of breeding mechanic. At first, being as busy as he was, Petrel didn't pay it much mind, but when the cork boards outside his office became a sort of forum for his subordinates to arrange meeting times for connecting their little keychains, he couldn't help but head down to the convenience store situated on the ground floor and buy one.

The store had nearly been out of stock when he went, but he managed to get his hands on the last one in the top row. It was purple, amusingly enough, with a small screen, three buttons on the right, and a seafoam-colored square of plastic around said screen, mimicking a cage door. The grunt manning the store had called it a "v-pet", or something, really, Petrel hadn't been paying attention. The next thing he knew, however, he'd been sprawled out on the couch in his and Proton's apartment, feeding some small, squishy-looking monster meat and training its stats. It was sort of like a pokemon, from what he understood- you would train it, and it would evolve, but his didn't look like any sort of pokemon he knew. It looked kinda like a dust bunny, actually, and it was apparently called a "botamon".

As Petrel simply lay there and take care of his new virtual pet, he really couldn't figure out what all the fuss was. It was just an extra chore that would beep at you when it was hungry. He figured he'd only been playing for a few minutes at the most, and had been contemplating putting the thing down to go look for anything edible in the fridge when he noticed a shadow looming over him, and he glanced up to see Proton staring down at him, looking quite amused.

"_That's_ what you've been doing for the the last hour?" his friend asked. "Cleaning some v-pet's shit? And here I thought you'd been takin' a nap, or something..." Petrel frowned.

"I have _not_ been doing this for an hour," he protested. His botamon beeped at him, and he glanced back down long enough to feed it some more meat. Proton snorted.

"Yeah, I'll bet you've been here _way_ longer than an hour. I got back... let's see... 'round seven? And it's nearly eight, now. You've been here at _least_ an hour," he replied. "Are those things really that fun?"

"No way." Petrel rolled his eyes. "It's _super_ monotonous... I have half a mind to put it down and never bother with it ever again."

"Except you're not gonna." Proton smirked. "You're gonna be carryin' that thing along with you everywhere, I can see it, now. We'll be in the middle of a heist, and it's gonna beep, and you're just gonna drop everything and turn away to feed it."

"You're just jealous because my botamon is the most awesome botamon in the entire history of botamons," Petrel sniffed. "If you want one that badly, then go get your own." Proton laughed at that.

"Me? With a pet? Even with a _virtual_ one, I'd probably never feed it," he said. "I only remember to feed Twitch because he's at least _important_." The conversation ended there as Petrel and Proton decided to watch Petrel's botamon rapidly bounce against the side of the screen. Proton was relatively unimpressed.

"_Aww_,look, he wants to get out," Petrel laughed. "That's fuckin' adorable. Wait... what's he...?" They watched as the sprite flickered for a second before turning into a slightly larger round thing with rabbit ears. "Ah! He evolved! Cool! Let's see... he's a koromon? I guess?" Proton simply shook his head.

"Just make sure it doesn't keep you up, Pretrel. I'm gonna turn in early, I've had a long day." Petrel glanced up from his v-pet long enough to shoot Proton a grin.

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, Pro."

"Night!"

Petrel wasn't quite sure when he'd fallen asleep, but apparently, he hadn't even gone into his room to do so, and was woken by Proton, who looked endlessly amused. He quickly stole a glance at the time- eleven AM- and winced.

"I, uh... guess I caught up in my keychain..."

"No kidding." As Petrel sat up and stretched, Proton plopped down on the couch next to him and shook his head. "Archer's been on my ass all morning- you were supposed to meet him to talk about the morpher experiments or something, I guess? Anyways, you need to go see him ASAP, otherwise he's probably gonna yell at us, both, again." Petrel sighed heavily and pushed himself to his feet, attempting to smooth his wrinkled uniform as he did so.

"Alright, I guess I'll have to go see him..."

"Don't get sent to the U, okay? I already have enough li'l motherfuckers to deal with, down there, today."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

As usual, Archer was a complete pain in the ass to find, though as he had his v-pet to keep him company on the quest, Petrel didn't mind so much. He even got to stop outside of his own office to scribble down a battle request on the pet forums as he passed by. From there, he spent the better part of fifteen minutes tracking the senior Executive down, eventually finding him having a cup of tea in his office. Needless to say, the man didn't seem exactly thrilled to see him.

"I see you're awake," the bluenette said stiffly as Petrel shifted awkwardly in front of his desk. "Sit, Petrel. There are things we need to discuss."

"The morpher experiments, right?" he replied. At Archer's nod, Petrel continued. "Look, Arch, I _know_ the last serum didn't work _exactly_ the way we expected it to, but you've gotta admit, we still got _results_..."

"It's taking too long," Archer said calmly. He peered down at the papers on his desk. "According to your reports, the last _significant_ advancement with the serum was two months- Petrel, are you even paying attention?" Petrel didn't asnwer; he was busy pressing buttons on his v-pet, feeding his koromon and putting it through some training. "Petrel? _Petrel!_" The purple-haired executive's gaze snapped up.

"Huh?" He glanced down to see koromon do his little bounce against the side of the screen, and then back up to meet Archer's disapproving gaze. "Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, I got one of those stupid virtual pets circulating around the base, and it's super addictive. You know how I am with that kind of stuff." Archer frowned.

"Don't let it interfere in your work," he said, "and leave it alone long enough for us to talk." At Petrel's sheepish nod, he continued. "Now, as I was saying, it's been two months since you've made any real progress, Petrel, and Boss isn't very happy about that." Petrel rolled his eyes.

"Oh, yes, I'm going to be able to finish the serum in one night," he deadpanned. "Look, Archer, these things take time and amazing attention to detail, and as it stands, I'm still the only one allowed to even be on the project. I can only do so much." His v-pet beeped, and he glanced down. "Dammit, Koromon, how much do you need to eat?"

"I'm sure you could be doing a lot more with it if you weren't tending to your little keychain, there," Archer pointed out. Petrel merely grunted at him in reply and continued feeding his koromon. "Petrel, put it away."

"Hold on. His energy's back up, I need to train him."

"Petrel."

"Give me a second, Archer, jeez."

"_Dammit, Petrel, put it away or I'll do it for you_." Petrel rolled his eyes and, muttering, put the v-pet back in his pocket. Archer nodded. "Thank you. Now, do you think you can at least figure out how to get the subjects to stop dying by the end of the week?" Petrel sighed heavily and leaned back in the seat, rubbing his temples with one hand.

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "I've been working almost twenty-four-seven on the damn thing, and it's getting hard to find new leads. I'm worried I might be approaching a dead end. I could always fake the results to see if he can give us some more time on it, but I'd really rather not have to stoop to that level." Archer's frown deepened, and he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair thoughtfully.

"I was afraid of that," he said. "I know it must be stressful for you, but if you could work _something_ out in time..." Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Oh, how tempting that sound was. Petrel tried to ignore it, he really did. He didn't want to upset Archer more than the man obviously was, but... Dammit, Koromon needed to eat!

Before he could stop himself, Petrel had reached into his pocket and withdrew his v-pet, just in time to see his koromon evolve into some weird thing with four legs and a fin on its head. He vaguely registered Archer snapping at him, but that wasn't such a big deal. He cycled through the menu buttons to find that his new v-pet was called a betamon. He was quite proud of this accomplishment, as now he was certain he could take on a battle or two on his cork board forums and-! His train of thought was interrupted when Archer had gotten up, strode around the desk, and ever so rudely snatched the v-pet right out of his hands.

"Hey!" he cried indignantly. "Dammit, Archer, give Betamon back!"

"You can't even sit through a Lugia-damn conference with this thing!" Archer hissed. "It's not going to do more than be a distraction!"

"Wait- _wait, Archer, what are you doing?!_"

"Saving you from your own damn problems, Petrel!" Petrel lunged; Archer was faster. The bluenette had raised the v-pet above his head and let his arm arc downwards, using the power of the momentum to smash the keychain pet into his desk and effectively break it into several small pieces. Petrel had missed his wrist by mere inches. Now he stared down at the broken screen and cracked casing, eyes wide.

"You... you _asshole_!" he managed to accuse. "You... you _just_... _You fucking_ _asshole_!" Archer merely pushed the broken pieces of the pet back at him.

"Dispose of these," he ordered, "then get to work on finishing the serum. I'm sorry, Petrel, but this is for the good of the organization. Maybe once your project is finished and you have a little more time on your hands, you can get a new one." Petrel scowled and scooped the pieces up into his hands, neglecting to answer him. "Oh, don't be like that. It was a toy; it's not like I took a knife to your koffing."

"Yeah, well, maybe as soon as you think Monoxide's getting in the way, you'll sick Proton on 'im," the purple executive sneered. "Fuck you, man. Just stop talking and let me get back to work."

"By all means, please do."

Petrel found himself slouching a little more than he usually did as he trudged down to his office, casting the cork boards a dark glance as he passed them. He'd already gotten three replies to his battle request- battles his betamon would now never have. His poor pet was dead, just because Archer had no Mew-damned patience for the little things in life. He probably startled a few grunts as he slammed the door to his office behind him, but really, he didn't quite care at the moment. He simply continued on to his chair and slumped forward to rest his head on his desk as he placed the broken pieces of his v-pet before him.

"That was _so_ uncalled for...," he muttered. He remained in that position for quite some time, it felt like, before there was a loud knock on the door. "Ah, dammit, what _now_...? Door's unlocked!" Truth be told, he'd actually been expecting Archer to be coming to make sure he was actually working, and not Proton looking rather concerned.

"Hey, Petrel," the greenette greeted. "You ain't lookin' so hot, man. Archer was pretty pissed, huh?" Petrel shrugged in reply.

"I dunno," he sighed, "he was pretty much as calm as ever. Except for the part where he was a total jackass."

"_Ugh_, tell me about it." Proton rolled his eyes and stepped fully into the office, hopping onto one of the stools in front of Pretel's desk. "What'd he do to get you so down, though? C'mon, P, you're always so chill, even when he's lecturin' us for bein' idiots." Petrel motioned vaguely towards his shattered v-pet.

"He thought I had a problem," he murmured. "I guess I did, but still, he didn't have to murder my betamon... He'd evolved again, Proton, I couldn't have just ignored the little guy..." Proton frowned deeply and stared at the plastic remains.

"Why not just buy a new one?" he asked. "I mean, it may not be the same color, but you can still train a new one."

"But what if it doesn't even evolve the same?" Petrel replied. "I heard there are a bunch of different ones it can turn into, but betamon was so cool... He never even got to battle, man..." Proton's expression morphed into one of pity.

"You really were attached to the damn thing, weren't you?" he asked after a moment. Petrel gave another long, suffering sigh, and stood, grabbing an expo and heading to one of his boards.

"It doesn't matter, now," he said. "I need to focus on my work. Sorry, Pro, but could you throw that... _junk_... out for me? I don't think I could do it, right now."

"Don't worry about it," Proton replied, "but, hey, do me a favor and come home on time, tonight. I found a recipe for this awesome chicken bake, and if there's something that can lift your spirits, it's good food."

"No promises." The two bid their goodbyes and Proton took the pieces of the v-pet with him as he left. Petrel tried to ignore it and throw himself entirely into his work. Really, he told himself, he was too old to be playing with such stupid toys. He didn't really _care_ about that stupid monster, not when he had the morpher experiments to work on- and so, as he remembered doing since the day he began his basic training, and submerge himself so utterly into his task that, as usual, he lost track of time. It was nearing midnight when he'd finally looked at the clock and realized he was very, _very_ late for chicken bake and panicked a little, rushing around to put his things away and grab his wallet before speeding off to the elevator.

When he entered his apartment, the lights were all off, Monoxide and Twitch were passed out on top of the coffee table, a tupperware container with the remaining chicken bake in it was sitting next to the microwave, and Proton was nowhere to be seen. Upon closer inspection, Petrel found his roommate's door to be closed and locked, both sure signs that the greenette was sleeping. He crept back into the kitchenette and quietly pried the lid of the tupperware off, grabbed a plastic fork, and went to go sit at his desk. He paused, however, when he set the tupperware down on something that beeped at him. Frowning, he lifted his dinner to see what he had set it on.

There, right in front of his keyboard, was his v-pet. It was glued back together, and though the screen was cracked and several spots of pixels were dead, his little betamon was bouncing rapidly against the side of the screen. Petrel simply stared at it for a moment before pressing the button to feed his pet, and then slowly glanced around, finding a slip of paper on his keyboard.

_'Petrel-,' _it read, _'I know you got attached to that stupid thing real quick, and I know you couldn't bare the thought of throwing it out. I think it's as stupid as Archer does, but hey, guy's gotta have a hobby, right? The chip inside wasn't damaged, and neither was the battery- a little bit of glue and elbow grease, and the thing works perfectly fine. Hit me up for a battle at lunch. I got an agumon. ~ Proton.'_

Petrel couldn't help but snort and reward Proton's efforts with a small smile. It was nice of him to do that. He really was a good friend. Petrel folded up the paper slip and put it in one of his desk's drawers before grabbing his v-pet and his dinner and retreating into his room, where he kicked back to relax on his bed.

"So, Betamon," he said to the keychain, "how good are you at keeping secrets?"

As if in reply, the v-pet beeped, and Betamon bounced rapidly against the screen.

* * *

**Okay, so, this has almost nothing to do with the story, but I was at work today and this guy came in looking to get a present to his girlfriend or wife or whatever, and he looked exactly like Petrel. I'm not even kidding. The droopy eyes, the goatee, the hair style, the slouch... He was even a little bow-legged! The only thing was, he wasn't wearing the uniform, and his hair wasn't purple, but otherwise... I just sort of stared at him the entire time. XD I was terribly temtped to ask him where Proton, Ariana, and Archer were. That's the anecdote of the day, kids.**


	6. Dinner Date

Disclaimer: So I don't own Pokemon. You know what I would do if I did? ... Have _all_ the money.

"Hey, Pro!"

Proton glanced up from his TV tray where he was, currently, taking advantage of the rest of his day off to get some work done and draft a few new ideas for pokeballs. Recently, he'd gotten this great idea from the files he and Petrel had acquired pertaining to Cipher's shadow pokemon experiments, and he thought he could replicate the results, using a much smaller, portable machine to do so- in fact, with how complete the reports they stole were, he had all the science laid out for him, and all he really had to do was compact it. This, in turn, seemed to lead Petrel into believing that he was in no way wrong for disrupting Proton's work as he leaned on the back of the couch- and to be quite frank, he wasn't.

"Hey, P," Proton replied, turning slightly to see him better. "Wussap? Archer doesn't wanna ground us again, does he?" Petrel laughed at the memory of that happening the _first_ time, leaving the two of them locked in their apartment for a week with armed guards outside their door to make sure there wasn't any "funny business" going on- really, though, they'd never thought Archer would get angry enough to put them on house arrest for a little prank. Or two. Or twenty-three consecutively.

"No, but man, those were some good times." The purple executive pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and glanced it over quickly. "My dad called earlier, while I was busy in the lab- he wanted to know if we were interested in teleporting over for dinner, tonight. Something about Viper's birthday, or something, I dunno." Proton frowned.

"_We_?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why _we_? You're not just _assumin'_ it's okay to bring a friend, are you?" Petrel laughed again and shook his head.

"No, no, he was _very_ specific about that. I believe his exact wordings were 'bring the new guy with you, but not that Archer kid, he was bat-shit crazy'. He knows we're good pals, every time he calls I seem to have a new story of our exploits to share with him." He leaned forward further until his feet left the ground, and he took a moment to slide around and re-adjust himself into a sitting position, while Proton watched on, quite amused.

"Y'know, you coulda just walked 'round the couch," he pointed out. "Well... I guess I'm cool with going? As long as the rest of you don't mind, I mean." Petrel grinned broadly.

"Sweet!" he replied. "Alright, now, compensating for the time zone, we've got about an hour before we have to head off, so do me a favor and go iron your uniform- my old man's kind of a stickler about that." Proton glanced down at his uniform and pouted.

"Hey, c'mon, it's not that bad! It's pretty damn decent, actually!"

"_Haaaa_... _no_. Trust me. You want the man to not kick you out before you even set foot inside, you gotta be pretty pristine... Here, just gimme your uniform, I'll do it."

"Dammit, Petrel, I can iron my own Lugia-damn clothes!"

"C'mon, Pro, just gimme your uniform!"

"_The hell are you doing?! Get offa me, asshole!_"

* * *

An hour later, and Proton was walking through the Kanto base near Celadon, glaring daggers at the back of Petrel's head. His friend didn't seem to realize, of course, and was babbling away as they wandered through the corridors, telling Proton stories of adventures from his childhood. They took an elevator ride to the twelfth floor, during which Petrel blabbed on and on and on about some epic game of manhunt he'd had with some of his friends a few years back, and then took a few turns before ending up somewhere on the other side of the base. Petrel abruptly stopped before a door, with Proton nearly running into him.

"We're here!" the purple-haired executive announced happily. "Alright, one last check- turn for me." Proton rolled his eyes and spun slowly on the spot. "Tuck your left pant leg back into your boot, and you're good."

"How 'bout I tuck my boot into your _ass_...," Proton muttered, leaning over to comply. Petrel didn't seem to hear him, and was busy adjusting his sleeves before he knocked precisely on the door in front of them. There was some clamoring from inside, plus the barks of a poochyena, before said door opened wide and the two came face-to-face with a man who, in all honesty, looked very little like Petrel.

Whereas Petrel was tall and wiry, the man in front of them was of average height, with a sturdy frame and large muscles. His uniform looked relatively new, and was starched and pressed with great care. His eyes were narrow and a dark brown color- in fact, the only feature he and Petrel seemed to share was their purple hair. Proton would have been hard-pressed to pick him out as his friend's father, if he didn't know better.

"Petrel," the man greeted, "you're looking well. This your friend?" Petrel grinned.

"Yup!" he answered, "this is Proton, Dad. Pro, my father." The man held his hand out firmly and Proton stood there awkwardly for a moment before reaching forward to shake.

"Good to meet you, kid," he greeted. "Call me Hunter. C'mon inside, I've got dinner cooking." Hunter turned and went back towards the kitchenette, petting his poochyena as he did so. Proton and Petrel followed him in and shut the door behind them.

"Viper's not home, yet, huh?" Petrel asked, glancing slowly around before hopping up onto one of the bar stools. Proton quickly scurried to take the seat next to him.

"No," Hunter replied, "he's working with his mentor, right now, I think their session's almost over. He'll be home in time to eat, I'm sure." He opened the oven to peer inside, and Proton immediately smelled something he was quite sure was a pot roast of some sort. "So, new kid, you're Alex's replacement, eh?" Proton blinked.

"I... I'm sorry?" he replied. "Alex? Alex who?" Hunter's brows raised, and he turned his gaze to Petrel.

"He doesn't know about Alex?" Petrel flushed slightly.

"He doesn't _need_ to know about Alex!" he replied quickly- a little too quickly, Proton noticed. "It's... it's not a big deal, anyways!"

"If it ain't a big deal, why don'cha tell me?" the greenette replied slyly. Petrel stammered and stumbled over his words, barely making any sense. Hunter grinned.

"You know, kid, I had my worries when I first heard about you, but I think I like you. You take care of your uniform _and_ can make my kid stop talking, for once."

"He does talk a lot, don't he?" Proton laughed. "Lugia, when he's not working I can barely geddim to shut the hell up. So, this Alex guy? What's he all 'bout?"

"He got transferred to one of the outposts in Tiksi, worked in Espionage with Petrel when they were kids," Hunter replied. "Used to have a lot of sleepovers at the kid's place, too. I always thought it was odd, but it ended up he was-!"

"Dad, _can it_!" Petrel snapped. "I already said he doesn't need to know, alright?!" Hunter raised his hands placatingly and backed off.

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a knot... Lemme pour you kids some drinks, okay?" Petrel muttered darkly as his father turned his back to dig in the fridge for said beverages, and Proton couldn't help but laugh a little. The conversation turned away from Petrel's mystery friend to their work, and he and Hunter went on and on about their respective duties. Proton mostly just listened to them talk, for a while, until Hunter finally turned his attention to him.

"So, then, what is it you do?" he asked, frowning. "You're one of those scientist pansies like my kid?"

"I'm an engineer," Proton replied, smirking. "I'm in charge of developing pokeballs for use by the team." Hunter snorted. Proton's smirk became somewhat strained. "What, you gotta problem with that?" Petrel quickly ignored them in favor of picking up his father's poochyena.

"I just don't see the need," Hunter replied. "All these new, fancy pokeballs Boss wants... I don't see what's wrong with the regular ones. Great balls, ultra balls... those're all they need. Your job is a waste of time."

"Well, it's at least more important than whatever the hell _you_ do." Proton took a sip of his beverage. "Let's face it, you're a fuckin' babysitter. Crowd control. I've seen the numbers- we don't need as many grunt trainers as we have- you're working on borrowed time. I won't be surprised if your position is cut." Hunter scowled.

"Oh?" he said, "you wanna bet, kid? Scrawny little toothpick like you, I'll bet you never even had a Mew-damn trainer when you were a grunt."

"Guys, c'mon..." Petrel chuckled awkwardly. "Let's not talk politics, huh? It tears families apart- like Monopoly."

"No, no, I want to hear more of Mr. Big-Shot's experienced ideas about our organization- after all, if some hick off the streets knows what's best for us, who am I to argue?"

"Guys, _please_..." Proton couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. Who did this dick think he was, anyways, talking to him like that?

"Oh, of course, and some middle-aged _asshole_ who's never risen above the most basic admin ranks has a better idea than I do." He leaned forward onto the counter, eyes narrowing dangerously though his smirk remained in place. "I'm an _Executive_, Hunter, and to that extent, I'm one'a the team's head enforcers- you'll show me the proper respect, or you'll fuckin' _regret it_." The two stared each other down for a second before Hunter, too, smirked, and turned his gaze to Petrel, who was looking rather concerned by the whole turn their visit seemed to be taking.

"I like this one," he said, "he has a spine. Don't let him get away, Petrel."

"Long as neither of you kill each other, I won't... Just... no blood before dinner, alright?" The conversation turned away from work and politics from that point, becoming nothing more than idle chatter as they waited for dinner to be done and for Viper to return home. Hunter went on and on about how close his youngest was to a promotion, and how proud he was, and wasn't it just grand, and as he babbled on with Petrel's neutral input every here and there, Proton had to amend himself for earlier. They may not have looked a lot alike, but the instant they open their mouths, neither of the two would shut up. Idly, he wondered if Viper had that problem, too. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

It was approximately twenty minutes later when Viper returned, and as Petrel and Hunter both went to greet him, Proton took a moment to look him over. He was much like Hunter in terms of build, though with a much squarer jaw, and slightly more prominent cheekbones. His hair was growing in the beginnings of a mohawk- possibly inspired by Petrel's hairstyle, in fact.

"So who's this?" Viper asked, staring directly at Proton as he took a seat on the couch. "And why the hell is wearing the gloves from the women's uniform?" Proton rolled his eyes.

"Alright, look, they _ain't_ the women's gloves, they're _Johto-exclusive engineer's _gloves," he replied. "Get it _right_."

"That what the supply team told you?" Viper snickered and turned his gaze back to Petrel. "Y'know, he kinda reminds me of Alex."

"Doesn't he, though?" Hunter agreed. Petrel scowled.

"He acts nothing _like_ Alex- he doesn't even look like him!" he protested.

"I just don't see what's bad about me lookin' like 'im," Proton said.

"Ah, it's not that, Petrel's just in denial. Hey, hey, if you guys sleep over, will that mean you'll-?"

"Dammit, Viper, _one time_! _One time_ that happened!"

"Aw, c'mon, Bro, it's not like I _saw_... Besides, now that we _know_ you've got a new buddy to ba-"

"Will you just fucking _SHUT UP_?!" Viper grinned; Hunter seemed relatively neutral; Proton couldn't help but flinch. In the entire time he'd known Petrel, not once had he ever seen the man look so fucking _livid_. His usual care-free slouch had become a defensive hunch, and his eyes blazed angrily as his lips curled into a sneer. Proton made a mental note never to push his friend that far- anger didn't quite sit right on the purple executive's features. "I'm so _FUCKING TIRED_ of you giving me grief over that shit, Viper! I _get it_, alright?! I _get it_! You're the baby, you're the favorite, you're the one who gets to get married and have kids, you're the one who can _do no wrong_! Well guess what, you little prick?! _I don't fucking get any of that_! Wanna know what I _do get_?!" Petrel took a step forward, but Viper slowly got to his feet and stepped right back outside of his arm-length, wearily backing up. Petrel continued his advanced, ever so slowly backing Viper towards the wall. "I get the fucking _death threats_ from all of those religious _hicks_ in the base! _So do me a fucking favor...!_" Viper shoved at him; Petrel quickly grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, bending it painfully behind Viper's back as he pushed him face-first into the wall. "_...And leave me the fuck alone_." For a long moment, no one moved, and then, silently, Petrel released Viper from his grip, turned swiftly on his heels, and trudged into what Proton assumed was the room he used to share with his brother before slamming the door angrily behind him. Hunter was the first to break the silence.

"Well," he said, "now that the pre-dinner entertainment is out of the way, I think I'll go check on the beef. Viper, want something to drink?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll take a beer..." Proton shot the two of them an incredulous look.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, "but Petrel just sort of _spazzed out_, there, and you mean to tell me you're not even gonna _apologize_?" Viper snorted- Proton was really starting to not like this kid.

"Like he'll even _talk_ to me," he said. "Nah, when he gets that pissed, it's best to just leave him alone for a while. C'mon, why don't you get over and tell us some stories, or something, I hear you're on the enforcement squad, and- the hell are you going?" Proton shot Viper a glare as he turned and walked towards the room where Petrel had headed. There wasn't any noise coming from inside- at least Petrel wasn't the "hulk-smash" type. Really, though, Proton had never believed 'anger' to even _be_ in Petrel's dictionary.

When he knocked and received absolutely no answer of any sort, Proton quietly opened the door wide enough to poke his head in. It wasn't a large bedroom by any means, but there was a large bunkbed and a myriad of exercise equipment all over. The carpet was discolored in some places, as was the wall, leading Proton to believe that, at one point in history, numerous bookshelves lined the room, and possibly even Petrel's desk. Now, though, it had been taken over entirely by Viper, and Proton couldn't help but feel as though he understood why Petrel never stayed over for more than a few hours.

Petrel himself was sitting on the deeply-carved windowsill, his expression uncaring and almost vacant, with his knees drawn up loosely to his chest and a freshly-lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He glanced over briefly as Proton entered, but quickly resumed staring out the window.

"...I'm sorry," he said after a moment, "that must have been a bit of a shock for you, huh? I don't think I've ever gotten that mad around you, before."

"Don't worry about it," Proton replied. He motioned to the small empty space next to Petrel. "You mind?" At the shake of his friend's head, he closed the door and hopped up to take residence there, leaning back against the wall so he could face him. It seemed, however, that Petrel wasn't really interested in talking, and continued to silently stare down at the grounds while taking intermittent drags on his cig. After a while, Proton found himself a little bored, and settled for staring outside, as well. It was actually a very nice view- they could see most of the lake, and the mountains it backed up against, leading away from civilization. Idly, he wondered if the Kanto HQ ever sent members into the mountains for survival training, and that it must have been hell- Johto wasn't particularly hilly until you got closer to the Victory Mountains, and so most of his own survival outings had been deep into Ilex Forest. Maybe, he thought, he'd take one into the mountains just for fun. Petrel may even want to go.

"So you've probably put the pieces together, by now, huh?" Proton started and whipped his gaze back to Petrel. He looked positively tired, eyeing Proton wearily.

"I- what?" Ahh, eloquent as ever, he mentally berated himself. "Put what together?" Petrel frowned.

"Religious death threats, not being able to get married, not being able to have children- that didn't set off any little flags in that mind of yous?" he elaborated.

"I... guess," Proton admitted, "but I think I'd rather hear it straight from you." He paused and snickered. "Ignoring that terminology, of course." Petrel graced his efforts with a small, amused smile.

"Alright," he agreed, "if you insist. Wellp... Hey, Pro. Guess what." Proton grinned.

"You're adopted?"

"Nope, even better. I'm gay. Surprise." The two laughed a little, quieting enough just to stare back out at the mountains. "This won't be a problem, will it? I mean, better to know now than to have to deal with _another_ Viper every fuckin' day..." Proton's grin dropped immediately into a frown.

"So he's always givin' you hell over it, huh?" He shook his head in disgust. "Asshole. I think you shoulda socked him one square in the jaw. He'd have deserved it. So..." Petrel raised his eyebrows in mild interest as he snubbed out his first cigarette and dug in his pocket to pull out a new one. "Alex?" Petrel didn't reply at first; he simply lit his new cancer stick, took a long drag, and then sighed, smoke swirling out of his nostrils as he held it out in offering. Proton took it wordlessly and took a drag, himself.

"Best friend since I was a kid," the purple executive finally said. "Hell, I don't even remember when I first met him, that's how far back we go. We're both second gen Rockets, y'know? Both brought up in the same base, on the same floor, with the same classes and the same interests... We were pretty much inseparable. And then we hit the teenage years, and we're always out trying to pick up chicks and never having any luck, until one night, when my dad was out of town and Viper was off with some of his own friends vandalizing the city. Broke into the old man's liquor cabinet, had a little too much to drink, and the next thing I knew, it was morning and we were in a rather... _intimate_ position. We were together for two years, after that- my dad was totally fine with it all, as long as it never interfered with either of our work, and eventually, Alex got this big, shiny new promotion to the head of his own strike team, and they sent him out to our outpost in Russia. He'd told me he was going to give me a ring once he'd gotten his boys all settled in to their new offices, y'know?" He gave a hollow laugh. "Two weeks later, I get a call, but it's from one of the higher-ups. There'd been a raid on the Tiksi base- everyone there was either dead, or captured. Never saw Alex again."

Proton wasn't quite sure what he could possibly say to that, but one thing was certain- he friend carried a lot more weight than he'd even given him credit for. Petrel took back the cigarette, which Proton was more than happy to return.

"So... I guess I can't tell you to bring some girls up while I'm gone, anymore, can I?" he asked. Petrel laughed.

"You can," he replied, "but not for what you used to mean. Nah, if I ever invite a girl up to our apartment for some one-on-one time, it's so I can watch a sappy chick flick and have someone to pass me the tissues when I start bawling, alright?" Proton laughed as well and nudged him with his foot.

"Hey, don't start getting; all soft on me, now, man, we've got a reputation to keep."

"_What_ reputation? If we ever even _had_ one, we've _got_ to have killed it, by now."

"Maybe a reputation as reputation-killers?"

"Fuck that, man. C'mon, let's go eat before you hurt yourself trying to think up something good- I can smell the smoke, already." They continued their playful banter all the way back into the den, where Hunter and Viper had already begun eating, and though the conversation between Viper and Petrel was a little bit forced at times, overall, the atmosphere resumed a much more friendly feeling- friendly enough for Proton to partake in what seemed to be family drinking-game night, the events of which would be fuzzy in his memories for some time to come, though when he and Petrel returned to Johto in the wee hours of the morning, he did quite clearly recall having a vomit-party in the bathroom, right before passing out.

Needless to say, when Archer found them lazing around with the worst hang-overs EVER, he was pretty pissed.

* * *

**So, I've finally decided, and, yeah, I think this is gonna end up being OlympicShipping (Petrel/Proton), though not centered too heavily on that aspect of their relationship. Sooo... yeah. Also, it seems like Tennessee is trying to pull a Michigan and legalize bullying as long as you can make up some excuse pertaining to religion, so this is kind of in response to that, a little. At least, that's what sparked this idea and why there wasn't a Christmas special, because I was totally planning a Christmas special. Oh, well. There's always next year. Also, happy 2013. Good job on not dying in the Mayan apocalyse.**


	7. Stained Gloves

Disclaimer: So, there's this fancy thing called fanfiction, where the person writing it doesn't actually have the rights to the media. Who knew?

Fuck.

Fuck.

Just... just...

_Fuck_.

Proton stared intensely down at the math before him, frowning deeply. This was _not_ what he was expecting, at all. In fact, this was exactly opposite of what he was expecting. There was absolutely _no way_ to make the math come out, despite how much effort and research he'd put into streamlining Silph Co.'s _own_ math. It just wasn't possible- _at all_. There was no scenario that he could see in which the current masterball's capture rate could go above 85%- an improvement over the original, of course, but nowhere _near_ where Giovanni wanted it. A one-hundred percent capture rate was simply _impossible_. With a groan, he allowed himself to stop staring at his now obsolete work and let his head drop onto his desk. This was _not_ how his day was supposed to go.

"Proton! Hey!" Proton glanced up wearily to find Petrel strutting in like he owned the place, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants- from the sweat stains, he was pretty sure his friend had been slated for training, again, that day. What Proton wouldn't have given to have done training instead of the abomination on his desk.

"Hey, Petrel," he greeted dully. "Arm stay in its socket, today?" Petrel laughed and collapsed into a chair in front of Proton's desk.

"Yeah, I was surprised about that, too." When Proton didn't really laugh along with him, the purple executive frowned and leaned forward, poking at his head. "Oi. Pro. What's got you down, man?" Proton simply scowled and remained silent, pushing his papers towards Petrel, whose brow furrowed and took them, glancing them over. "Yeah, okay, I get _some_ of this, but not enough, you're gonna have to help me out, here."

"Fuck it," Proton sighed. "I failed, okay? I've tried every single fuckin' thing I can think of, I _can't_ get the capture rate to exceed eighty-five, I just _can't_. And now I'm gonna get in a shitload of trouble with Archer, and he's gonna send me to the Boss, and I'm gonna spend the rest of my life down in the U."

"But what's the _problem_?" Petrel asked. "Look, the most I'm getting is that you can't fit a chip powerful enough to out-gun anything you try to catch, but otherwise..."

"That's just the thing." Proton shook his head and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "I've literally run the math for _every possible way_ to construct the damn thing, and in the end, it don't got either the capacity _or_ the strength for a one hundred percent capture rate. I can't see what I'm doing wrong- I think it might have something to do with the compression mechanism, but I don't see any realistic way of _fixin'_ that."

Petrel bit his lip and tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair as he placed the papers back on Proton's desk. He looked deeply conflicted- a look Proton had only seen on him a few times, before, when he had asked a question about the organization that Petrel didn't want to answer. In fact, it was the same look he'd been given when he'd asked why Giovanni had sent the other executives to recruit him, or when he'd voiced his surprise at being pushed so quickly to an executive position, himself. Oh, and then there was that one time when he mentioned how oddly Archer had been staring at him while they were listening to Petrel rant on and on about his pokemon genetics experiment that was still stuck, but otherwise, that was pretty much it. Generally, Proton never really bothered to worry about it- if it was something important and relevant to him in any way, shape, or form, he had no doubts that Petrel's decision of whether or not to tell him would be made purely in his best interests. In fact, he was just about to ignore that conflicted expression when Petrel finally said something.

"...Listen, Pro... What if I told you there's a guy in the U who used to work on Silph's pokeball research and development team?" Proton frowned deeply.

"I'd call you a motherfuckin' liar, 'cause if there was a big-shot like that, down there, I think I'd know about it. Half of my duties require me to be down there, P." Petrel shook his head vigorously.

"You wouldn't know about him," he said carefully. "He's in Archer's private block. Only the man himself can get in there." Proton snorted.

"Oh, yeah?" he replied. "Then how the hell do you know the guy even exists?" Petrel gave him a wry smile and laughed.

"Oh, me? Head of the med department, man, I've got a master key. Sometimes I have to run down and make sure he's not dying, or anything. But, seriously- I can let you in to talk to him. Only for a little bit, of course, but that _should_ be enough for you to get what you need out of him. So..." His smile became more nervous, Proton noted, and he began fidgeting a little. "How about it?" Proton cast a quick glance down at his failed equations and blueprints and shrugged one shoulder.

"Eh, what the hell, let's give it a go," he agreed. The two stood, and falling into stride with each other, left Proton's office and took a ride down on the elevator to floor B4. They didn't exactly talk much; Proton assumed that meant that, technically, they weren't even supposed to be doing that, and including how nervously Petrel was starting to behave, that visiting an off-limits prisoner would have some pretty serious ramifications if they got caught- not that Proton knew why, of course, and he couldn't see why he, as the head enforcer and the head of the security department, shouldn't be allowed to have some play time with _any_ of their prisoners, especially as all four of the basement floors fell under his command.

As they walked through the twisting and turning hallways, they eventually came across one that Proton had always been convinced dead-ended with a supply closet, but alas, that was not the case at all- in fact, it ended at the reinforced door with a card key slot depicting the lyre belonging to the Greek god Apollo, and Proton had no trouble guessing what sort of security clearance was required to get in. Of course, thankfully, Petrel's master keycard seemed to work perfectly fine, and they entered quickly and quietly without any issue.

Like the rest of the underground, the room was entirely concrete, and dimly lit, with a cell in the corner and a chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room under the single, dangling lightbulb. Some of the standard-issue enforcer equipment lined the walls, such as whips and chains, and it seemed as if, like Proton himself, Archer had a fondness for more _medieval _instruments, such as the Heretic's Fork he spied on a table. What really caught his eye, however, was not Archer's fine taste in torture equipment, but the man who was currently restrained in the chair.

His head was lolling onto his chest, eyes glazed over, with greasy, teal-colored hair and sickly pale skin. If he were standing, Proton would have had to guess that they were about the same height; what was more, they shared a similar frame, painfully thin as the man might be, and a similar facial structure. Of course, Proton had always thought he resembled his mother, more, but he would never forget the face of the bastard before him- though needless to say, he was still relatively surprised.

"Dad?" He strode passed the rest of the room and came to a stop in front of him. Quickly, the man looked up, confused.

"_Lance_?" he replied, his voice quite hoarse. "_Lance_... Oh... Oh, _Lugia_, _you're alive_! Oh, thank Lugia... they said they were watching the two of you, that if I tried to run they'd _kill you_..." Immediately, Proton's face contorted into a scowl.

"The hell are you talkin' 'bout, you fuckin' sonuvabitch?!" he snapped. "No, no, you know what, fuckin' forget _that_! You have any fuckin' _idea_ about what Ma and I went through, you asshole?! What, she wasn't _entertainin'_ ya anymore, so you find a new gal and stop supportin' yer _Lugia-damn family_, is _that_ how it works?!" His father's brow furrowed, and the man took on an exasperated expression.

"Is that what you think happened?" he replied. "That I abandoned your mother? Lance, she left me because I wouldn't support her... her _habits_."

"You fuckin' _liar_!" Proton growled, slamming his hands down on either arm of the chair. "None of that shit started until we left- and what about that woman she found ya with, huh?! How're you gonna try and explain _that_?!"

"She was a _co-worker_ that I was exchanging data with for the masterball project. Or at least, I thought she was, until she kidnapped me here..." Proton's father shook his head sadly. "But Lance, look, I don't know what you saw your mother doing these past years, but I can _guarantee_ you that whatever she was snorting, it was a lot _less_ than when she could actually _afford it_."

"You know," Petrel piped in, "we really can't be down here, long, so, y'know, we should probably start asking him questions relevant to that masterball project, eh?"

"Before we do that part, may I express my disappointment that my only child grew up to become a member of Team Rocket?" Proton's father replied. Petrel opened his mouth to say something; Proton cut him off.

"_Fuck you!_" he snarled. "_Just fuckin' fuck you, man!_ No, you don't get to be disappointed, y'know why, asshat?! _This is all your Lugia-damned fault! Okay?!_ _All of it!_" When no one said anything, he pressed on. "Because of what you did to us, we had to live in the fuckin' RV in a _junkyard_, 'cause we couldn't afford anywhere else! Ma couldn't hold down a fuckin' job, and sometimes we couldn't even afford to eat!"

He wasn't sure when he pulled out his switchblade. All he knew at the moment was rage- pure, unbridled rage, built up with years and years of grudges and resentment. All he could see was red.

"Then we lost the fuckin' _utilities_, and _ohhhhh, man_, how pissed I was I couldn't take a fuckin' _shower_ like a normal person!"

Slowly, he dragged the tip of the knife down his father's cheek and around the jaw, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake.

"Then she started _smoking_!"

A quicker, deeper slash, horizontally across the other cheek.

"Then she started _drinking_!"

A cut through a tendon in one of the man's arms, rendering it useless.

"Then she started _snorting crack_!"

A stab, plunged deep into the shoulder.

"Now she's _dead_!"

A sharp twist, and this time the howl of pain from his father was loud enough to penetrate the angry buzzing that was filling his head.

"Now I'm a fuckin' criminal!"

With a mighty wrench, he pulled the switchblade free, taking care to cut a little downwards in the process.

"_And it's ALL-_" _Stab._ "_ON-_" _Stab._ "_YOUR-_" _Stab._ "_HEAD!_" _Stab. Stab. Stab. Stabstabstabstabstabstabstab sta-!_

The next thing Proton knew, Petrel was quite bodily pulling him away from the bloody carcass sagging in the chair, but he couldn't help but continue to scream and threaten even as his friend dragged him to the other side of the room and pinned him against the wall.

"Proton!" he said sharply. "Mewdammit, Proton, _snap out of it_! He's dead, okay?! It's _over_!" It took a few more minutes of Petrel repeating that over and over, but eventually, it sank in, and Proton relaxed and quieted, and just as calmly as they had entered, he'd cleaned the blood and gore off of his knife, stowed it in his back pocket, and left the room, the entire time under Petrel's concerned gaze.

* * *

"What I don't understand," Archer said quietly, "is why you were in my private U block in the first place." Proton knew better than to try and be smart with Archer when he gets all quiet, like that. Generally, it meant the man was seriously considering killing anyone who was in the same room as him at the time- and to be fair, Proton had kinda screwed up big.

"I ran into a roadblock with the masterball," he replied neutrally. "I was going to ask him questions in the hopes that it would help. Naturally, I had no idea my _father_ was the man we were holding captive."

"Well." Archer gave him a thin smile. "Thanks to your efforts, we've lost our one source of information concerning the Silph pokeball development team. Under normal circumstances, I would have you sent to the Underground, yourself, but as it seems Master Giovanni still has use for you, I will only be requiring you meet with a team psychologist to ensure this never happens again." Proton inclined his head.

"I understand," he replied.

"In addition," Archer continued, "I will be speaking with Master Giovanni concerning the matters of finding a different way to obtain the information we needed. When a plan has been made, rest assured that you will be righting the mistake, yourself."

"That's very generous, Sir," Proton sighed. "Is that it? Can I get back to work, now?" Archer shook his head.

"No," he said, "I've talked to Petrel. He's agreed to be your shrink for the first session. Report to his office for further instruction- and let me make myself clear, Executive Proton, if you end up in my office again for misconduct the entire rest of the week, I _will_ sick my houndoom on you."

"Crystal clear, sir. You won't see me unless it's an emergency, I swear."

"Good. Now, get out."

As Proton left Archer's office, he couldn't help but notice that his gloves were covered in blood.

_What a shame_, he thought, runnning through the entire scenario in the U again in his head, _a slaughtered tepig like that staining my gloves. It wasn't even remotely close to art._ With a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, Proton decided that first, before going to see Petrel, he should probably get his gloves in the wash.

* * *

**Sparkly shiny chapter of newness, guys! Also, last serious one for a few chapters, I think, so if you were expecting more of those, sorry. Gotta wait for the establishment of the new base and the raid on Silph! :D **

**Every time you review, Petrel shows that he actually has a spine. Help a Petrel. Review a chapter.**


	8. Sleepless Night

Disclaimer: Once upon a time, there was a boring disclaimer. It was SO BORING that everybody _died_. The end.

Two thousand three hundred four.

Two thousand three hundred five.

Two thousand three hundred six.

Two thousand three hundred seven.

Two thousand three hundred eight.

Two thousand three hundred nine.

Two thousand three hundred why the fuck couldn't he get to sleep.

Proton scowled at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers he'd decorated his ceiling with when he had first moved in. It wasn't often that sleep eluded him, and when it did, it usually gave in after he hit one thousand. To be quite frank, he didn't start trying to count himself to sleep unless reading, looking at his ceiling star map, a glass of water, and blocking everything else out with his pillow didn't work. He cast an angry glance at his alarm clock; the time read two fifty three in the morning. With a groan, his gaze wandered to the slowpoke plushie sitting next to it.

"This has _got_ to be your fault," he told it. It didn't reply. It just sort of sat there... staring at him. "Don't you fuckin' look at me like that, bastard." Again, the plushie remained silent, and Proton's scowl deepened before he grabbed his hat and threw it at the poor thing, knocking it to the floor. "Yer just lucky yer tail don't grow back, ass, or I woulda cut it off by now." The plushie, now scared for its life, kept still, and Proton nodded in satisfaction. "Yeah, that's what I fuckin' thought. You stay there 'til tomorrow, if you know what's good for ya." Without another word to the poor, abused pokeplush, the greenette sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, scratching idly his abdomen before standing. Maybe he could have a mug of hot chocolate, or something. Not coffee, though. Definitely not coffee. Or tea, either. Those would just keep him up.

Normally, Proton and Petrel had this sort of unspoken agreement that bedtime was midnight. Sometimes, if they were particularly busy with work, they _might_ stay up as late as one-thirty or two, but in general, like any good young adult, sleeping was one of their more favored sports, and they loathed the moment they had to wake up. Seeing as Archer would lecture them if they didn't clock in at exactly nine in the morning (and somehow, he always seemed to know if they didn't, despite a lack of any real system to keep track of when they actually started working), they couldn't afford to sleep in, and that meant going to bed relatively early.

Needless to say, of course, Proton was rather surprised when he stepped out of his bedroom to find the light in the kitchenette on and smell the burning scent of the range. Petrel, clad in his hippie pajamas (no, seriously; his nightshirt was covered in peace symbols and revival herbs, and the pants were rainbow plaid- hippie pajamas), was slouched over a pot, stirring something that smelled of milk-ish origins, and looking rather tired, himself. He glanced up as Proton trudged over and took a seat at the bar, and grinned tiredly.

"Couldn't sleep, either, huh?" he asked. Proton shook his head.

"No," he agreed, "but that's weird, isn't it? That neither of us can sleep." Petrel shrugged and went back to tending to his little concoction.

"Well, it's a new moon," he replied. "Maybe that has something to do with it- you know, a natural defense against darkrai." Proton snickered.

"Yeah, right, like a darkrai would be wandering around, here." He shook his head amusedly. "So whatchya makin' there, P?"

"Hot cocoa." So saying, Petrel took a moment to measure out some cocoa powder and mix it into the pot. "Want some? There should be enough for two, here."

"I was thinkin' 'bout it. It smells good, that's for sure."

"Alright, yeah. Just give it a few more minutes and it'll be ready."

"Ya know, that's one good thing 'bout havin' a chemist as a roomie- it don't matter whether you're mixing drinks or makin' cocoa, it always turns out great." Petrel laughed outright at that.

"You flatter me, sir," he said. "Somehow, I think you're just trying to butter me up." Proton smirked.

"Damn straight, man. Anything for the cocoa."

"_Anything_, you say?" Petrel repeated, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ah, fuck, not like that, ya perv!" The two laughed quietly for a moment before Petrel's attention had to refocus on the hot cocoa. Proton watched as he turned the range off and got down two coffee mugs, splitting the warm, chocolate-y goodness between them and passing one to said green executive. He stared down into the mug for a moment, reveling in the warmth and smell, watching the steam rise, before taking a sip and feeling the scorching liquid run down his throat- and as with any time anyone tries to drink fresh hot chocolate, he burnt his tongue, but honestly, that was alright.

"So," Petrel said at last, "how's the new base coming?" Proton shrugged.

"Not bad," he replied, "we're heading off in a few weeks to start on construction. I'll probably be gone until it's finished- half a month, maybe more."

"Ahh, nice." Petrel nodded. "Make sure to give me a call when you get there, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Proton snickered. "Yeah, I'll give you a ring as soon as I get my guys settled in and working. Cool?" Petrel frowned slightly and fidgeted.

"...Or earlier," he said quietly. "Earlier might be nice." Proton paused. Ah, right, he reminded himself. Alex. That was a thing.

"Or earlier," he agreed. "Probably earlier. You know, I'll send you some pics, too, it's a pretty nice area, right by the ocean."

"That'd be very nice, actually." The conversation paused there as the two decided to try drinking their hot chocolate, again. It was working, already, Proton noted. He was starting to feel a little bit sleepy- of course, chatting with Petrel was probably helping, too. "Whoa, what-? _Dude_! Pro- Pro, look outside!" Proton was snapped from his musings by Petrel turning off the light and rushing over to step outside onto their balcony. With a frown, he stood and followed. He was glad he did.

The sky was covered in a constant assault of meteors, hundreds blazing past, and he couldn't help but stare, eyes wide and mouth agape. He'd never seen something so... so _beautiful_, before, not that he could ever remember. Well, sure, he'd seen meteor showers, but not one quite this colossal. Every inch of the sky he could see was covered in the streaks of light, and for once, he was glad he hadn't been able to sleep. He wouldn't have wanted to miss this for the world.

The two of them remained there, shoulder to shoulder, leaning over the balcony railing to watch the spectacular show, until the meteor shower was over about twenty minutes later.

"Aww... over, already?" Petrel whined when it finally stopped. "Man... Ah, well." He glanced down at Proton and grinned broadly. "Hey, you make a wish while they were passing us?" Proton couldn't help but snicker, again.

"Yeah," he admitted, "to be able to finally get some fuckin' sleep. How about you?" Petrel laughed, as well.

"Me, too," he said. "It's funny, huh? I bet a whole shitload of people saw that and wished for something like love or money, and we just sit here and wish for sleep. Mew, we're weird."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, P, I'll tell ya that right now. _However_..." Proton glanced back to the kitchen to check the clock. "It's getting close to four, so I think I'm gonna go put that wish to the test, now. I'll see ya in the mornin'?"

"Yeah, definitely. G'night, Pro."

"Night, P." With a quick exchange of a friendly bro-hug, Proton and Petrel went to go put their now-empty mugs in the sink, and retreated to their respective bedrooms. Out of pity (mostly for his hat), Proton picked up his slowpoke plushie and made a sleeping bag for it with his hat back on his nightstand, and then proceeded to curl back up under his bedsheets.

_Hot chocolate does a fuckin' good job of keepin' ya warm..._

Slowly, his eyelids began to lower, and before he even knew what hit him, Proton fell into a deep, relaxing sleep.

* * *

**This is what happens at four in the morning when I don't have hot chocolate. I make a freakin' fanfiction about it. :/ Friggin Proton and Petrel and their friggin hot chocolate. It's not fair.**


	9. Snowball Fight

Disclaimer: AHHH IT'S SNOWING DISCLAIMERS! QUICK! DISCLAIMER IGLOO!

Say anything about Team Rocket that you will, but at least admit one thing: they had wonderful aesthetics. Proton inhaled the crisp winter air deeply and gaze around him; the grounds were covered in a thick blanket of snow, everything a sparkling, dazzling white, as were the barren trees and evergreens of the surrounding forest. Winter was probably the young executive's favorite season; sure, almost half of his life he'd had to suffer through them with pretty much the minimal sort of protection against the elements, but now, seeing as a nice, warm, winter jacket came with the uniform, he could enjoy the cold, again- and, quite definitely, this was a day that called for hot chocolate. Oh, yes. VERY yes.

In fact, he was just about to turn around and head back up to get some hot chocolate in a thermos so he could go for a walk when there was an impact, and his head was forced to snap forward. Whatever it was, it was cold, and some of it slipped down his shirt, making him shiver. Frowning, Proton righted himself and brushed at the back of his head with his hand. It was cold, wet... _snowball_, he thought, _some asshole threw a fuckin' snowball at me._ Slowly, he turned to find his assailant.

There, maybe eight, nine meters away was Petrel, grinning broadly and clad in a winter uniform of his own. He was tossing a snowball up and down lightly in his hand, as if getting a feel for its weight, before he drew his arm back and threw. Proton blinked, still trying to get a hold on the situation at hand, when it landed smack-dab in the middle of his face. With a grimace, he wiped the snow that had stuck off and scowled at Petrel, who was now laughing at him. Patiently, Proton waited for him to finish, and when he did, the two simply stood there, staring each other down, Petrel grinning like an idiot and Proton still scowling heavily at him. After a moment longer, Petrel finally spoke.

"Catch me if you can, Pro."

"Challenge accepted." Immediately, Petrel executed a flawless one-eighty degree turn and bolted. Proton quickly scooped up a handful of snow and chased after him, shouting obscenities which his friend only laughed at.

As Proton packed the snow in his hand into a nice, neat ball, he mused over the fact that Petrel really didn't know the first thing about picking fights; really, a snowball war with the kid who had, once upon a time, wanted to go to college and be a physics major? Terrible, _terrible_ move. So saying, he was already taking into account the length of Petrel's stride, the speed at which he was moving, his current intended course, his own speed and stride, the direction of the wind, the weight of the snowball... He gave his projectile one final weigh in his palm, quickly double-checked his mental math, and then, skidding to a stop, hurled the thing with as much force as his intended path for it required. Several seconds later, Petrel was hit in the back by the freezing missile, and his step skipped slightly, just enough for him to trip and fall face-first into the snow.

"Take _that_, mutherfucker!" Proton shouted. Petrel was laughing, again- not his regular laughter, either, but his mischievous up-to-nothing-good laughter. Proton frowned. "The hell's so funny?" Petrel rolled over and sat slightly, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I'm afraid, my dear Proton, you walked _straight_ into out trap," he replied. Proton frowned.

"Wait, wha-HEY! _Fuck_!" All of a sudden, he was being assaulted from both sides, and he threw his hands up as he tried to keep the snow from hitting his face (that didn't really work, of course). He had probably been hit by twenty or so snowballs when the attack stopped, laughter now coming from three directions. Petrel, of course was the obvious one, and so Proton looked to either side. Ariana and Archer had been hiding behind snow banks, presumably lying in wait as they sent Petrel out as bait. Proton pouted.

"Oh, _c'mon_, that ain't fair! It was three against one!" he exclaimed.

"Au contraire, Executive," Archer replied, as formal as ever. "It was entirely fair; there are no rules in war!"

"Aww, poor li'l Proton," Ariana snickered. "I think we hurt his pride, boys. How about we change it up, a bit?"

"Oh, yeah?" Petrel asked as he hopped to his feet. "What's the plan, Ari?"

"I'd say let's split this you two versus me and Archer," she said. "What do you think?"

"Sounds like fun," Archer agreed. "Alright, let's do it. The objective: to annihilate the enemy, entirely. The victors get two days off, for a four-day weekend." Proton rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, leave it to you to turn this into trainin'," he sighed. "Well, what the hell? I'm in. P?"

"Like Archer said, sounds like fun." The purpled executive nodded. "What are the terms of annihilation, then?"

"Let's say five hits, you're out. Honor system, I suppose, but I don't see why any of us would want to cheat at a children's game. Each team will have three minutes to find a starting position and arm themselves; teams shall be restricted to the grounds- nothing inside the buildings, nothing outside the gates." Archer extended his hand, palm-down. "Are we at an agreement?" One by one, the other executives place their hands on top of each other's, and Archer smirked. "Raid On the City," he said.

"Knock out Evil Tusks!" the others replied, with gusto. With that, the circle broke, and the two teams turned away from each other and ran.

* * *

The first thing Proton and Petrel had done was search for a base of operations. They found a rather nice snowbank by the parking garage and hid there as they created their snowball supply. Of course, they ended up with tons more than they could carry, so Petrel suggested they leave a supply and deem their little base an armory. Proton whole-heartedly agreed, and the two simply stacked as many as they could in their arms without sacrificing their running abilities and began their search for Ariana and Archer.

Wordlessly, they headed immediately into the parking garage- considering it was an open garage, neither of the two considered it truly 'inside', though they weren't too keen on taking the battle to any floors above the ground level. Really, they were just taking cover. After a moment in which nothing was thrown at them, Proton leaned around the car and quickly glanced over the area before sneaking across the drive-path to another car near the other exit. After a moment to settle himself, he popped up again to take a look, and deeming the area secure, motioned for Petrel to follow. The purple-haired executive seemed to have a little bit of a rough time crouching so low, but he managed to keep his head down and joined Proton behind the new car.

"It's a shame you don't go on high-risk infiltrations, dude," Proton whispered. "We'd make a fuckin' good team. Just imagine it- breakin' into some police headquarters, maybe even the league..."

"As fun as it is to think about, it's not ever gonna happen," Petrel replied, "I'm a support unit, Pro. Archer only ever brings me along if he wants a good medic on-hand, and even then all I get to do is sit around and _maybe_ battle some idiot if I'm lucky." He peered out of the garage to the side of the grounds Archer and Ariana had run towards. "Look- look, there. You see it?" Proton frowned and squinted a little.

"That big-ass snowbank? Yeah. Y'think that's where...?"

"Almost _positive_. Now, see that one over there?"

"Yeah. On three?" Petrel nodded, and the two quieted immediately. Without missing a beat, Proton signaled his count, and on the third signal, the two made a mad dash towards the second snowbank. Almost as soon as they had made it half-way, they suddenly found themselves in a rain of snowballs, and Proton felt himself get hit once or twice as they tried to dodge and weave around them.

"FUCK! GO, GO, GO!" Petrel shouted. "DIVE, MAN! _DIVE_!" They leaped over the snowbank, landing and rolling safely on the other side.

"Dammit!" Proton hissed. "The hell _were_ they?! Did you even _see 'em_?!" Petrel shook his head.

"I was hoping you saw," he replied, panting. "_Shit_. I got hit... three times? How about you?"

"Twice." Proton sighed. "Man, they got us, good. I never thought they'd just sit and wait for us..." A snowball spontaneously landed a few feet in front of them, and Petrel swore. The two backed up as close as they could against the snowbank, making sure to keep themselves down and out of sight. Several more snowballs followed shortly after, including one that hit Petrel in the back of the neck, and he grimaced.

"Make that four," he said. "Somehow, I think this was over before it even began."

"Not quite," Proton said. "I still have three hits left- and I'm smaller, too. Harder to hit, skilled with physics, most health- I'm more of a target. So here's what we're going to do." He quickly drew a diagram in the snow. "Okay, so based on where the snowballs they just threw landed and how long it took them to hit us, they should be right about-" he began to point to a spot on his diagram, when a few more snowballs landed in front of them and he frowned before moving his finger to point at a somewhat different area- "_here_. I'll run this way, to the right, and while they're focused on _me_, you run around this way, try to stay low, and take a few shots. If we're good, we can still salvage this."

"I'm not sure if I like you being the bait...," Petrel said dubiously. Proton snickered.

"Trust me, P. It'll work. Just stick to the plan, and try not to get hit, alright?" Petrel sighed.

"Alright, alright. Just... be careful, okay?" Proton raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"P, it's a fuckin' snowball fight, not a high-noon shootout. Now, on my mark- ready? One- two- _go_!"

They split according to Proton's plan, with Petrel running to take Ariana and Archer from behind and Proton running directly into their line of fire armed with only a couple of snowballs. They were right near where he thought they'd be, and he mentally congratulated himself on his accomplishment, as minor as it was.

"Hey, assholes! Over here!" he shouted. One of Archer's snowballs narrowly missed him. "_Ha_! I've seen a _magikarp_ with better aim than you!" This spurred a rather vicious onslaught of snowballs from Archer, with Ariana laughing at him in the background, it sounded like. Proton felt himself get hit once, but he was now in that frame of mind where the math just came to him- no extras effort, no mental calculations. He was in his 'zone', dodging and weaving around the projected paths of the snowballs as though he could physically see them. He took a moment to throw a couple snowballs, himself, and grinned broadly when one nailed Ariana in the face- all of a sudden, the attack became even fiercer, now with fury on both Archer and Ariana's ends. _Fuck fuck fuck... I can't keep dodging these forever, Petrel, __**hurry**__...!_

"Wait, what in the name of...?!" Proton smirked. Petrel had hit Archer not once, but twice, it seemed, and the blue executive turned on him, angrily. "Dammit, Petrel, I thought you were out!" Petrel quickly ducked to avoid one of his snowballs.

"Nope!" he replied cheerfully. "One life left, but I'm still in!"

"Archer!" Ariana snapped. "Archer, forget him, for now, Proton's the bigger threat, here!" So saying, Proton aimed a snowball and let it fly, hitting Ariana in the boobs. Archer threw another snowball at Petrel for good measure and took a moment to resupply himself and taking another hit before alternating between throwing snowballs at both Proton and Petrel.

The two younger executives slowly began to circle in, pinning the elder two down. Archer and Ariana were getting desperate, and their throws began to show it- Proton was surprised and began trying to correct his visualizations of the ballistic paths, taking a hit to the shoulder in the process. Immediately he threw a couple snowballs to buy himself some time and backed off; apparently, Petrel'd had the same idea, and they both hit Archer at the same time. With a swear, Archer dropped his snowballs and flopped down onto the ground, cross-legged. Proton grinned savagely and looked up just in time to see Ariana pulling her arm back. His eyes widened.

"GET DOWN!" All of a sudden, Petrel slammed into him, forcing the both of them down, under Ariana's projected snowball path. Proton never heard it land.

"...Petrel?" he said shakily. Petrel laughed a little and propped himself up so Proton could pull himself out from under him.

"That was it for me, Pro," he replied quietly. "I hit her before she hit me." Proton sneered and glared over at Ariana, who was smirking.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." She shook her head slowly. "Bad play, Petrel. Now it's just you and me, Proton."

"Bitch!" Proton snarled. He scooped up a handful of snow and barely payed enough attention to compact it before throwing it; Ariana hit it with her own mid-air, effectively nulling both of them. Proton let out a fierce roar and charged as Ariana began her assault once more, pelting snowballs at him. It didn't matter how hard or how high she threw. Proton was back in the 'zone'. He dodged every single one of her snowballs, dropping to his knees and sliding passed her to her stock of snowballs. He grabbed two and turned quickly before she could react, hitting her with one right after the other. Archer and Petrel simply stared on, amazed. Ariana blinked.

"Well," she said after a moment, "that escalated quickly."

"Very quickly," Archer agreed. "How'd he _do_ that?" Petrel didn't seem to know, nor care. Instead, he leaped to his feet and gave a loud whoop, jump-tackling Proton from behind and pulling head down to give him a noogie.

"Fuck yeah, man!" he cheered. "Four-day weekend, here we come! That was fucking _awesome_, Pro!"

"Let go, asshole!" Proton snapped. "The hell did ya have ta go play hero for, anyways?! Dick!" Petrel simply laughed and released him from the headlock, spinning around to do a victory dance (actually, Proton noticed, it seemed he was rather skilled at the robot).

"Actually," Archer said, "you two were getting Friday and Monday off, anyways." Petrel continued his victory dance (he was now jiving, quite well) as Proton scowled at him.

"The hell you mean by that?" he asked. Archer gave him one of his creepy, _creepy, _calm smiles.

"The Boss is coming in to discuss some things with Ariana and I. You two will be watching his son for the duration," he answered. "I'll give you some time to prepare, then. Ariana, shall we? I think I have the most delightful recipe for chicken noodle soup in the kitchen drawer..."

"That sounds wonderful, Arch." Ariana smiled. "Good game, Proton. Next time, take a little longer to scout out your surroundings. It could have saved you a lot of trouble, today." Proton pouted, and Ariana laughed as she left with Archer. Proton continued to pout until he noticed that Petrel had moved on to moonwalking behind him, and he turned, to fix his friend with a pointed glare.

"What's up?" Petrel asked as he turned around to continue moonwalking in the opposite direction.

"We're babysitting this weekend," Proton grumbled.

"Ooh, _yay!_" If possibly, Petrel's grin broadened. "Man, I fucking _love_ hanging out with Silver, he's such a sharp kid! We don't even have to do any of that little kid shit, either, last time all mini-boss wanted to do was play me at chess and shit, it was _great_." Proton snorted.

"Fuck that," he growled. "It doesn't change the fact he's some snot-nosed little _kid_. _Lugia_, I fuckin' _hate_ kids..." Petrel snickered.

"Oh, says the guy who's barely an adult, himself."

"Whatever. Stop dancin', I wanna go inside and have some hot chocolate."

"Don't be a playa hayta, Pro."

"If you ever say 'playa hayta' again, I'll stab you. I mean it."

They continued to banter all the way back to their apartment. All in all, Proton thought as they settled down and took off their jackets, it had been a pretty good day, and despite the mishaps, he and Petrel had done okay. Of course, that little hero stunt Petrel pulled, and how panicked he'd actually seemed at the moment... Proton had to wonder about that. But then he reminded himself that it didn't really matter, because they'd totally kicked Archer and Ariana's asses, and he smirked.

Oh, yes, winter was definitely his favorite season.

* * *

**I'm sorry, but just the image of Archer, Ariana, and Proton sitting there trying to have a semi-serious conversation with Petrel doing random, weird dances in the background just cracks me up. XD**

**Also, you just wasted however many minutes of your life reading about a snowball fight that took almost the same amount of pages as Proton's recruitment.  
**

**You're welcome.  
**


	10. Sleepover Shenanigans

Disclaimer: A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, an author wrote a disclaimer. And it was good.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

_Nnh...? Oh... time for work... already...?_

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

_Wait... today's... Friday. Day off. More sleep. Fuckin' alarm..._

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Proton groaned and slapped his hand on the snooze button before turning away from his alarm clock and pulling his pillow over his head. Lugia, was he glad he had two whole extra days off, this weekend. No work, no having to get ready at obscene hours of the morning... He could sleep until noon if he wanted to. Of course, he mused, if he wanted to sleep until noon, hitting the snooze button instead of actually turning his alarm off was probably the wrong move to make, but, hey, maybe if he was awake enough when it went off, again, he'd actually get up and try and get something done. Maybe he'd actually get around to fixing the garbage disposal like he promised Petrel he would three weeks ago. Sometimes, he was thankful that his friend was such a workaholic, otherwise he was quite sure he'd have been getting nagged about it all this time.

Proton was just about ready to try and get back to sleep when there was a knock on his door, and Petrel leaned in the room, grinning broadly. Proton stared groggily at him for a second before shrugging it off and trying to get back to sleep; Petrel laughed.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" he greeted. "Aw, c'mon, don't tell me you forgot, already. We're babysitting Silver, today. Let's go, Sunshine, up and at 'em." Proton simply sighed and pulled his covers up over his head, mumbling something completely unintelligible, even to himself, though he was sure it was supposed to be some sort of insult. Apparently, it was not. "...Alright, yeah, I dunno why you want to try playing hockey with a halibut, but we've got bigger fish to fry, pal. Boss should be stopping by to drop the kid off in thirty minutes, so get your skinny ass up and iron your uniform."

When Petrel finally left, Proton remained in bed for several more minutes before finally, sadly, he pushed the sheets off himself and rolled out of bed, scowling. Truth be told, he _had_forgotten about baby-sitting the Boss' kid, and he wasn't exactly thrilled by the fact. As he went to dig in his closet for his casual winter uniform (a simple dark gray blazer over a black t-shirt emblazoned with the Rocket 'R', black slacks, and his regular high-heeled boots) and after combing his hair completely disorientated, jammed his hat over his head and lowered the brim before staggering out into the kitchenette to grope around for the coffee pot.

"Mew, you look like a zombie!" Petrel laughed, scruffling Proton's hair through his hat. "Did you get _any_ sleep, last night?" Proton scowled half-heartedly at him.

"It's too damn early for this, Petrel," he snapped in reply. "Just... just fuckin'... I dunno, man, just fuckin'!" Petrel simply shook his head and opened the fridge, pulling out his coffee creamer.

"Just make sure you're awake when Boss gets here, alright?" he said. "You don't need Archer on your case any more than he already is, bud."

"Whatever," Proton sighed. He finally poured himself a mug of coffee and trudged over to the couch, slumping down in his spot. "Just make sure to keep that fuckin' kid out of my way, got it?" Petrel snorted.

"Oh?" he asked. "Or what?" Proton didn't answer as he coaxed Twitch down to feed the little zubat some M&Ms from the jar on the coffee table.

"Or he'll end up playin' my game," he answered, "and let me be clear, Petrel- _no one_ wants to play my game." Petrel was about to reply when there was a knock on the apartment door, and he paused to glance at it before walking over.

"Don't be such an arrogant douche, Pro. Now c'mon, that's probably them." Proton groaned and stood, popping a few M&Ms into his mouth and letting Twitch perch on his shoulder before getting up to follow Petrel to the door. The two took a moment to look themselves over and make sure their uniforms were relatively neat-looking before opening said door and stepping out into the corridor.

Giovanni stood before them, looking rather neutral, with Archer and Ariana standing behind him and a small, red-haired boy at his side. Petrel quickly stood at attention and snapped off a flawless salute; Proton simply took a sip of his coffee and gave a rather sloppy salute of his own. Archer glared at him over Giovanni's shoulder.

"Sir," Petrel greeted. "Welcome to Johto. I trust traveling was relatively stress-free?"

"As stress-free as it can be, Executive," Giovanni replied. "At ease. I apologize for keeping you from your work- I know I'm already requesting a lot from you." Petrel grinned.

"Oh, it's no trouble, Sir, I love kids," he said. "I can always make time for looking after Silver."

"Ass-kisser," Proton snorted, taking another sip of his coffee. Giovanni shot him an amused glance.

"Bold, for your recent screw-ups, Proton," he said. "Do well this weekend and maybe I'll think about giving you a clean rap sheet- remember that."

"Yeah, alright, whatever." Proton shrugged one shoulder and glanced down at the red-haired boy. "So this is Silver, huh? Gotta say, I'm a little jealous, kid, you got a way cooler dad than I ever had." Silver scowled at him defiantly and hid slightly behind Giovanni. The Boss chuckled and pushed him forward.

"Behave, Silver, and obey these two," he ordered. "I'll return to pick you up on Monday. Archer, Ariana- let's begin our discussions over breakfast. Shall we?"

"Of course, Master Giovanni," Archer said, bowing, "we've already sent word to the cafeteria. Breakfast should be awaiting us in my office." Giovanni nodded, and without another word, turned on his heels and headed back towards the elevator. Ariana and Archer followed shortly after him, both of them sending one last glare at Proton before they turned down another corridor and out of sight. Petrel sighed heavily and then smiled down at Silver.

"So!" he said, "how about we have some breakfast, ourselves, eh? I went shopping while Proton was being a cry-baby, we can have a pancake party." Silver shrugged noncommittally.

"Sure, I guess," he said quietly. "Can you make shapes like you did last time?"

"Of course I can, kiddo. Go put your stuff down and get settled in, and I'll get cracking on that, alright?" Silver nodded and trudged inside, with Petrel and Proton heading into the kitchenette soon after. Proton leaned against the sink as Petrel got down a frying pan and began rummaging around for whatever he needed in the fridge.

"So," Proton said after a moment, "I hope I'm not the only one seeing the problem with this set-up."

"Mm?" Petrel replied. "What d'you mean, Pro?" Proton rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on, ya can't be _that_ dense." He motioned vaguely off towards the rest of the apartment. "Two bedrooms. Two beds. Three people. You do the math, P. How's this going to work?" Petrel immediately stopped and stood, glancing over his shoulder with a frown.

"That's... not something I even thought about," he admitted. "It's not something that's ever been a _problem_, before... I mean, the last time I had to watch him was before _you_ moved in, so he just slept in your room... ...Well, shit." Proton face-palmed.

"So he's in my room, right now? Fuck, man, he's prolly goin' through _all_ my shit..."

"Sorry, Pro. You can take my room, if you want, I can sleep on the couch."

"Ha, yeah, and listen to ya whinin' and complainin' in the morning? I don't think so, bastard. Your back problems and that couch do _not_ go well, together. The little brat can sleep on the couch, he can handle it."

"Oh? You wanna be the one to explain why he had to sleep on that damn thing to the Boss? You're in enough hot water as it is."

"So _I'll_ fuckin' sleep on the couch, alright?! _Jeez_..."

"You can _never_ get to sleep on that couch! I've seen you try, like, twenty times at _least_, and you never manage it. You're taking my room, no argument."

"I'll fuckin' argue until you give in and let me sleep on the Lugia-damn couch!" The two scowled at each other and crossed their arms almost in synchronization. When it became apparent that neither of them were backing down, Proton decided, what the hell, maybe they could compromise. "...Alright. Alright, fine. I wasn't even gonna suggest this 'cause _someone's_ gonna end up feeling awkward about it all, but... well..." He sighed heavily. "What if we bunked together? I mean, we're pals, we can handle it. Your bed big enough?" Petrel's eyebrows rose significantly.

"I'm sorry?" he asked. "Are you being serious? Man, have you _seen_ my bed? It's _barely_ big enough for two people to fit, and you practically gotta spoon to make it work!" He scuffed at the tile with his foot awkwardly. "Besides, us sleeping together... might not be the _best_ idea." Proton sighed again and dismissed the entire argument with a wave of his hand.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even brought it up. I'll sleep on the couch, alright? And if I can't, I can just go crash in my office. It'll be fine," he said.

"_Nooooo_," Petrel whined, slouching further. "C'mon, Pro, don't do _that_. Now you're just making me feel _guilty_."

"I said I'll sleep on the couch, now make that kid his fuckin' pancakes." Proton pointed towards the range and watched as Petrel dutifully returned to searching for his ingredients. "I didn't mean to make this such a big Lugia-damn deal, alright? Fuck, man..." He shook his head and went to open the closet their washer and dryer lived inside, grabbing a toolbox off of one of the shelves in there. He then rolled up the sleeves on his jacket, removed his hat, and opened the cabinet under the sink before pushing all of their cleaning materials to one side and scooting in to lay under the piping.

"Are you really sure you're okay with it?" Petrel whined. "Dammit, man, I don't want to put you out of a place to sleep for the night..."

"Holy fuck! Petrel! I said it was fucking alright!" Proton said exasperatedly. "Hand me my Lugiadamn flashlight, will you?" Petrel paused from mixing the pancake batter to grab the tiny flashlight from Proton's toolbox and tossed it to him. Proton grabbed it and turned it on, holding it between his teeth as he began to disassemble the pipes. The two worked on with only the sound of the pipes clanking and unbolting and the sizzle of frying batter for a while, until they were met with the sound of soft footsteps.

"Oh, hey, Silver," Petrel greeted. "Room's changed a lot since you last stayed over, huh?"

"What were all those weird magazines on the nightstand?" Silver replied. Proton flung his hands up in irritation and removed the flashlight from his mouth so he could speak.

"I _knew_ it! I _knew_ that fuckin' brat would go digging through my shit!" Petrel glanced down at him disapprovingly.

"Language, Pro," he said, "no corrupting minors, today, alright?" Proton snorted.

"Too late for _that_," he muttered under his breath. Petrel rolled his eyes and turned back to tend to the pancakes.

"What magazines were they, kiddo?" he asked. "Did you see what was in them?"

"It was 'Play'-something." Both Petrel and Proton immediately froze. "They were filled with weird pictures of naked people." Slowly, the gazes of the two Executives met. Oh, this was not good. This was definitely not good.

"...You left your _Playboy _mags out," Petrel accused, disbelief etched into every feature of his face. "You knew the Boss' kid was coming, and _you left your Playboy mags out_."

"I'll, ah... I'll go put those away, then, shall I?" Proton laughed awkwardly and slid out from under the sink, heading immediately for his bedroom. He heard Petrel making some ridiculous excuses, asking Silver to keep quiet about what he saw to _everybody, _and he couldn't help but snicker at the situation. Oh, of _course_ something like this would happen. Of _course_. He grabbed the couple magazines from his nightstand and threw them unceremoniously into his closet, taking care to shut the door all the way before heading back out into the kitchenette and resuming his position under the sink. By then, Petrel had given Silver a plate of pancakes shaped like pokemon and was already working on a stack for himself.

"So," Petrel said, "what are we doing today, boys? We got a whole four days to kick back, relax, and have fun, we might as well figure it out."

"Fun?" Proton snorted. "All possibilites of fun went straight out the window when that brat came in, I'm sorry. Twitch, see this? This is a monkey wrench. Look for something like this, but bigger."

"What are you _doing_?" Silver asked, leaning over the coutner to get a better look as Twitch began searching around in Proton's toolbox.

"I'm fixing the sink," Proton replied. "Petrel decided to jam up the fuggin' disposal, the moron."

"Don't worry about him," Petrel said. "C'mon, Silver, what do you want to do, today? Just, no hide-and-seek, alright? Your old man almost had an aneurysm when I couldn't find you, last time."

"How about the zoo, then? Ariana told me they had loads of new pokemon from Unova... Can we go?"

"Unova pokemon, huh? Hey, I'm down. I have a nephew who lives in Unova, you know, I bet I could tell you loads about the pokemon they have."

"Really?"

"Yeah, sure. Just let me go get changed, alright? Can't be going out in my uniform, now, can I? Pro, you, too, alright?" Proton growled and once more slid out from under the sink, standing to fix Petrel with a glare.

"Why the hell do I have to go?!" he snapped. "Dammit, is being stuck getting that shit out of the pipes enough of torture? What's stuck in there, anyways?!"

"Slowpoke tail," Petrel said off-handedly. "Seriously, you're off to help me take care of Silver, not fix the sink. You're coming with us whether you like it or not, pal." Proton gritted his teeth and turned to aim a kick at the cabinets before going back to his room to change.

Yeah, today was gonna suck.

* * *

So, the zoo wasn't _so_ bad. They'd tried to take Petrel's beat-up, old car, but when it wouldn't start, Petrel had to go borrow Ariana's keys while Proton took a look under the hood and determined he needed a new battery. When they'd finally gotten there, Silver had dragged them around to all of the Unova pokemon exhibits (the boy seemed endlessly interested in the dragons, there), which had been boring in and of itself, but once they'd had lunch, Proton had managed to slip away and find something a little more amusing to do- namely, he began wandering around, shamelessly flirting with any pretty girl who looked relatively close to his age. Of course, then there were the concerned friends or parents who were hanging around, who all managed to convince said girls to not follow him off because apparently there was something 'off' about him. Really, what the hell was _that _all about?

One of the ones who had ruined his fun was a girl's father, about his height, with a similar build. He'd followed the family when they left, long before Petrel and Silver would be finished, and had barely registered taking his switchblade out of his back pocket as he went to wait in a dark, shady alley next to the restaurant the family went to eat at.

When Petrel and Silver had left to go searching for Proton, and found him leaning on Ariana's car with a cigarette clenched between his teeth and a smear of blood on his cheek, they called it a day and returned home. Silver had been a little upset they'd had to leave so soon. Petrel had seemed rather angry. Proton, quite honestly, didn't care. There was nothing wrong, he'd thought, with a little bit of stress relief.

Once they had gotten back, Petrel had pretty much forced Proton to take a shower, and when Proton had come out to return working on the sink, Petrel and Silver had taken up residence at the purple executive's small piano in the corner of the den, playing around with different tunes. Proton was quite surprised to find how talented the both of them were, and contended himself in listening as he finished fixing the sink.

Almost not soon enough, it seemed, it was time to send Silver to bed, and so Proton quickly retrieved his pajamas and his favorite pillow and went to set up his own bed on the couch. Petrel had watched him for all of three minutes before sighing, rolling his eyes, and getting up, grabbing his pillow and marching over to throw it onto his own bed from the doorway into his room.

"Look," he said, "I over-reacted a bit, earlier, alright? It'll be fine. We can bunk together." Proton scowled.

"We already had this entire Lugia-damn conversation," he snapped, "I don't care if you're feeling bad or whatever. I'm sleeping on the-"

"-mothefucking couch, yes, I heard you the first ten times," Petrel finished patiently. "And I'm telling you, if either of us wants to sleep, we have to share the Mewdamn bed. C'mon, let's go." He snapped his fingers and pointed towards his room. "Go get changed. We can just call it a slumber party." Proton shook his head, and yet, he didn't protest.

"You know we'll probably just end up talking all night, anyways," he said. When Petrel chuckled his agreement, Proton slipped into his room and closed the door part of the way behind him, quickly stripping down to his boxers and pulling his nightshirt on over his head. When he opened the door, Petrel quickly slipped inside and closed it fully behind him, heading over to his dresser and changing unabashedly.

"Do me a favor and turn on the news, yeah?" the purple executive asked. Proton grabbed the remote from beside Petrel's small TV and flipped it on, already on the correct channel, before propping his pillow against the bed's headboard and laying back contentedly. Petrel's bedroom was, overall, pretty nice. It didn't have the same charm as his own did, of course (mostly because Petrel's was severely lacking in glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling), but the towering bookshelves covered in all sorts of books and knick-knacks were rather welcoming. The entire room smelled faintly of smoke- his friend really did try his best to only smoke outside, though he was sure there had been some rainy days that had found the executive lighting up inside.

"You're sure you're fine with this, P?" he asked as the news began broadcasting the weather. Petrel glanced over as he finished tying the drawstring on his pajama pants and gave him a lopsided grin.

"Hey, I get to be in bed with Team Rocket's numero uno pretty-boy. You know how many Grunts would kill to be in my position, right now?" he replied, hopping up to kick back next to him.

"That ain't exactly answerin' my question," Proton said. Petrel simply laughed.

"Alright, alright, yes, it's fine, okay? We're pals. We can handle it." He frowned, however, as his gaze snapped to the TV. It seemed the news had decided to move from the weather to the local crime spree in Goldenrod, including the rather brutal, random, cold-blooded murder of a man near the local zoo, earlier in the day. "...Pro."

"Hm?" Proton turned his head almost lazily to face him. "What's up?"

"Please tell me that wasn't you."

"Alright. That wasn't me."

"...It was, wasn't it?" Proton groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Dammit, Petrel, which do you want me to tell you?! Make it _easy_ for once."

"So, let me get this straight- you leave out your porn magazines when you know we have to look after a freaking seven-year-old, we take said seven-year-old to the zoo, and you get bored and go kill some random guy just for fun."

"Nope."

"Don't fucking lie to me, Lance." Proton glared at him.

"Don't call me that," he snarled. "Dammit, Petrel, you know I fuckin' _hate _that name!" Petrel didn't look amused in the least, but when he didn't say anything, Proton continued. "Look, I'm _sorry_, alright? I didn't mean for it to get that fuckin' far, I was just wandering around trying to pick up chicks and some bitch's father tells me to take a hike because apparently I had the same look in my eyes as his brother who's a mass-murderer, or some shit, I dunno. It pissed me off, man. You know how I get when I'm angry." Petrel simply continued to stare at him, making him fidget, until he let out a growl and let his head drop back onto his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "I promise, P, it won't happen again. I'm sorry I ran off, I know I shouldn't have. I ruined today, didn't I?" Petrel's gaze finally softened, and he smiled slightly, laughing.

"I dunno about ruined," he replied, "it wasn't that bad, really. I missed hanging out with a kid, like that. Hell, I hadn't seen Silver in a year, and I never get to see my cousin or my nephew that often... Tab's getting a bit big to be called a kid, I guess, though." Proton grinned.

"You know, I never really pegged you for being such a softie," he laughed. "You'd have made the perfect school teacher."

"You think?" Petrel shook his head. "Nah, I don't think that would go over so well. I used to tutor to make some extra cash before I graduated to Admin, and I always got so damn frustrated when they couldn't get it."

"Aw, c'mon, you would've been great, if you just gave it some effort." Proton nudged Petrel playfully; Petrel gave him a harder nudge back. Small nudges gave way to a shoving war, and that to a full-out grappling battle to pin the other.

They laughed and cursed at each other as they wrestled, almost evenly matched, though Proton had to admit that he'd underestimated his friend's strength, yet again; it was hard to imagine someone so wiry (with back issues, to boot) being able to hold his own in any sort of fight. As usual, that underestimation led to Proton's demise, and he quickly found himself being outmatched. Petrel managed to grab his wrists, and Proton tried his hardest to pull away; Petrel maintained his grip for a few seconds before abruptly letting go, and Proton swore as his own force threw off his gravity and made him fall backwards. Petrel moved quickly, sitting on his stomach and pinning his wrists down to the mattress.

"Gotcha," he said, smirking. "I win again, good sir." Proton snickered.

"Good game," he replied. "Next time, I'll beat you, for sure." Petrel's smirk broadened, and he leaned forward slightly.

"I'd like to see you try," he said quietly. Proton jerked his head, flipping his bangs out of his face.

"Another day, maybe," he said, "today was long as hell, and I think that whole grappling match did me in. I'm dead tired, man. Off, please?" Petrel didn't reply; his eyes flicked casually over Proton, and the greenette frowned. "P, seriously, man. Off. ...P?"

Petrel was starting to lean further, the space between them closing bit by bit. Proton squirmed slightly, frowning. This... was off. This was definitely off, Petrel was seriously acting weird, even for _him_. Idly, Poton found himself wondering if this was actually just a dream, and if he hadn't even woken, yet. But then, he never killed people in any of his dreams, and he certainly never found himself pinned awkwardly under his best friend, who he was quite certain was actually checking him out. Yeah, okay, this was getting awkward, fast.

As if sensing his thoughts, Petrel abruptly righted himself and rolled off of him, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry," he murmured. "Ah... goodnight, I guess. I'll turn the TV off in a little while, hope you don't mind."

"Nah, nah, man, it's cool," Proton replied. "We're cool. G'night." Without another word, he clambered under the sheets and turned onto his side to stare out the window. Eventually, he heard Petrel move on to some random late-night sitcom or another and he couldn't help but wonder why, overall, this just seemed so natural to him. Even with that awkward ending to their little wrestling match, nothing seemed relatively out of the ordinary; even the voices from the TV and that annoying laugh track, things that would have kept him up under any other circumstance, were slowly lulling him to sleep, and even the heat he could feel Petrel radiating from their close proximity (his bed _was_ a little on the small side) didn't really bother him.

_Dammit, Proton_, he berated himself, scowling half-heartedly, _you're thinking too much. Just get over it and go the fuck to sleep._

Never, for the life of him, could Proton ever remember falling asleep so easily.

* * *

**Adfbwefgdf, little bit of li'l!Silver in this, not much. He'll show up again, eventually. Recently, I've subscribed to the idea that Petrel is Grimsley's uncle; I'd probably peg him about nine or ten by this? Also, and this has been something I've been sitting on since Petrel's HGSS design was released, I find that Tabitha of Team Magma and Petrel actually look pretty similar, so I'm convinced they're cousins, or something. Tab is about twelve, by now. As for the Execs, by this chapter, Proton's almost 18, Petrel's around 20-ish, and Archer and Ariana are almost in their 30's... I dunno why this is important, but it is, so there will be a test at the end of this story. Take notes!**

**Also, for some reason, I keep imagining Proton with a very thick urban accent, like he was from NY. Maybe the Bronx. I dunno. XD**


	11. Hospital Drama

Disclaimer: If you haven't figured out I don't own any of this by now, I think I need to have a talk with your parents. No? Good. :D Have a gold star.

It was a morning like any other. Petrel had woken early, accidentally walked in on Proton taking a shower, stammered a stream of apologies, changed into his uniform, made some toast, and had to double back to their apartment for his wallet so he wouldn't be locked out of his office. When he arrived, he logged into his computer, checked his inbox, and found that Archer had slated him for the Med department, that day. Without a single glance at his pokemorph project (which he was grateful about, as he really wasn't sure where to go with the thing), he grabbed his lab coat from his coat rack and jogged to clock in with his secretary and set up his room for the day.

Once upon a time, Petrel mused, he hated this place. He hated the smell of disinfectant, the bright lights overhead, the clean _everything_, the cabinets and tools and chemicals... That was a long time ago, of course, back when he had been first transferred to the medical department, and he was still an admin. He'd wanted to do what Alex had been doing- climbing the ranks in the Espionage department, trying to get his own strike team. Then again, if it hadn't been for that accident, he probably would have gotten his own strike team, sent to Tiksi, as well, and ended up dead or captured or something equally bad. Now, of course, he was used to to the lights and the smell. It was like a home away from home away from home.

Inhaling deeply, Petrel decided to set his walk through memory lane on the backburner, and flopped down into the rolley chair next to the sink to look through his clipboard to find his schedule. He had quite a few Rockets to see to over the course of the day, and probably a few more as walk-ins, and on top of it all, he had to check up on some inpatients, as well. It was going to be a long day- but, of course, that was completely fine. He didn't want to think about what the end of the day would bring, because as luck would have it, it was also the day Proton was heading off with his crew to begin construction on that new base Boss had commissioned, meaning he would be returning to an empty, gloomy apartment. Honestly, Petrel wasn't sure how he'd managed all those years by himself, in the first place.

The purple executive stood and was about to go out and see if his first appointment was ready when the door opened and he ran smack-dab into someone decidedly shorter than him.

"Oof! Hey, watch it!" Proton backed up a few steps, scowling up at him half-heartedly. "Look, man, I know you're gonna be lonely, but you don't gotta try and kill me!" Petrel simply blinked. After a moment, Proton's scowl turned into a grin, and he laughed. "Ah, sorry, I don't think I could keep that up with a straight face. How you doin', man, huh?" Petrel blinked again.

"You're not my appointment," he said dumbly. Proton raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here, Pro? I thought you had to be off, first thing."

"What, I can't stop and say goodbye to my best friend before I leave? Sheesh! You don't love me, anymore, is that it? Well, fine! I'll just leave!" He leaned back against the door and threw one arm over his eyes melodramatically, and Petrel couldn't help but laugh. Proton glanced at him through one eye and grinned again, larger this time. "Hey, now, there's the Petrel I know. C'mon, man, pound it- I'm gonna be stuck near Olivine for three weeks, and it's gonna be _way_ fuckin' worse than livin' here, alone."

"Alright, alright," Petrel agreed, reaching out to bro-fist Proton. "Stop playing it up, jerk, you're just gonna somehow manage to guilt-trip me, again. And remember, you promised to call when you got there." Proton rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"You're such a fuckin' worry-wartortle. Don't worry, I'll call. It'll probably be some time after lunch, so don't worry when it's not right away, alright?" He put his hand forward, smiling. "I'll see you in a few weeks, P-trizzle." Petrel clasped Proton's hand firmly within his own and tugged, engaging in bro-hug mode.

"Just make sure you look out for yourself, Proton. See you in a few weeks." Proton shook his head and poked a bit more fun at Petrel on his way out; Petrel graced his efforts with a laugh, as empty as it was. Truth be told, he had a pretty bad feeling about his friend heading off on this mission. He wasn't sure why, of course, there was nothing ridiculously challenging about it, and it wasn't like he was infiltrating any Cipher bases or anything. He was just going to take care of some construction. It would be fine. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Petrel attempted to clear his unease from his mind, and slapped a smile onto his face as he headed out into the waiting room.

"Hey, Lindsey!" he greeted upon seeing said Grunt. She smiled softly and stood, saluting as she stopped in front of him.

"Good morning, Executive Petrel," she replied. "How are you?"

"Better now that such a pretty lady is my first patient of the day," Petrel replied. He motioned down the hallway. "Shall we?" Lindsey nodded, and he waited as she sat down on the examination table before closing the door and sitting, himself. "So, Ms. Lindsey, what can I do for you, today?" Lindsey removed her hat and proceeded to fiddle with it for a moment before answering.

"I... I need a pregnancy test...," she whispered. Petrel blinked, then frowned thoughtfully.

"Well, there's a problem," he said. "I have it on good faith that _someone_ in this room has a pretty bad fear of needles. Pee-stick too disgusting, huh?" Lindsey nodded wordlessly. "Yeah, I dunno why women bother with that shit, it's downright gross. Well, sit tight, and I'll see what I can do about a sonogram."

* * *

_So... many... people..._ Petrel groaned and face-desked as he returned to re-sterilize his examination room after his fifth appointment left. He was starting to get hungry, though he wasn't sure if he actually had a lunch break scheduled, any time soon, or any time at all that day, in fact. Maybe he could raid one of the secretary's lunchboxes- one of them was _bound_ to have a granola bar, or something. If push came to shove, he could run down to a vending machine and get a bag of chips, or something. Maybe a giant Kit-kat bar. Damn, Petrel loved Kit-kats.

In fact, he was just about to get up and go searching for Kit-kats when he heard the ringtone he'd assigned to Proton on his pokegear go off (for the record, it was a recording of a night when all four of the executives got so wasted they ended up doing an a Capella rendition of 'Thriller', with said green executive singing lead, rather well), and he immediately leaped to his feet, cursed when he felt a sharp pain in his back from standing up relatively straight, and lunged for said pokegear, hitting the 'answer' button.

"Pro!" he greeted. "Hey, you're there, already?" He heard Proton laugh from the other end, and immediately, the feeling of dread he hadn't been able to rid himself of all day subsided.

"_Good to talk to you, too, P,_" came the reply. "_Yeah, we just landed, we're headin' the rest of the way on foot. Let Archer know we're gonna be startin' in less than an hour, will you?_"

"Yeah, of course." Petrel grinned and sat back down in his chair, swivling around. "Oh, and don't forget, you promised me pictures, too." Proton laughed again.

"_Alright, alright, hold on, gimme a sec... Hey- hey, Decarli, hold up, Petrel wants a picture._"

"_Sure, Sir. Let me see?_" Petrel waited patiently as he heard Proton's pokegear exchange hands aand the picture be taken. After a moment, Proton spoke again.

"_There you go. Did you get it?_"

"Hold on..." Petrel stared at his pokegear for a second before it buzzed. "There it is! Let's take a look, then..." He grinned broadly when the picture loaded, showing Proton leaning casually against a palm tree, grinning like an idiot. But... there was something odd in the background... It was hard to see, but there was someone off in the trees in the far distance... "Uh... Pro, not to be a kill-joy, again, but way off in front of you guys-?"

"_Fuck_. _I see them... Are they...? Oh... oh, SHIT. FALL BACK! EVERYONE, TO THE WARP POINTS!_" Petrel blinked. There were a couple faint 'blam's in the background.

"Pro, what's going on?"

"_Hold on, P, we've got some iss- are they fuckin' shootin' at us?! Dammit! Decarli, Forhan, you two with me! Heim, Carillo, Peng, get the rest of them out of here!_" There was a general chorus of 'sir' and the sound of gunfire became more and more apparent and more and more often. Petrel's eyes widened.

"Proton?!"

"_Petrel! Petrel, do me a fuckin' favor and begin emergency procedures, we've got two wounded, already! I'll see you when I make it back!_" Petrel tried to reply, but the line cut there, and soon all he heard was the dial tone. He remained there for a moment, motionless, with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to string even two words together. He remained that way for quite a few minutes before he sprung from his seat and ran out into the lobby, skidding to a stop at the secretaries' desks. One of them looked up at him, visibly startled.

"Executive?" he said. "Uh... you don't have another appointment for, like, twenty minutes..."

"Put all of that on hold." His voice was coming out harsher than he meant it to, but he couldn't help it. The feeling of dread was seeping back into his stomach. "Executive Proton's party got ambushed, be prepared to receive wounded. I'm going to prepare the ER; send word to Archer of the circumstances." The secretary nodded, and Petrel spun on his heel and ran to get his ER team together.

It started as a small trickle, just one or two who got clipped or tripped and became disorientated. Soon, more Rockets with worse wounds were brought in. Petrel had to get several teams working just to keep up with the influx; each time he heard more Rockets coming in, he was met with a unpleasant, almost nauseous feeling, thinking each and every time Proton would be brought back dead. Soon enough, he had the secretaries calling in staff that had been given the day off, and the medical wing was buzzing with unusual amounts of activity. The entire time, Petrel made sure to keep himself free- just in case, he told himself. Just in case. Of course, his teams'd had to call him in a few times to assist them on more tricky wounds. This had to be one of the worse ambushes he'd seen, he thought.

After a while, the numbers began to thin out, and many rockets were discharged; all of them made it, though whether or not they would wasn't exactly much of a question in the first place. Some of them had to stay the night, just so they could be monitored, but overall, the medical department had been very successful. Maybe he'd talk Archer into giving them all bonuses for the month.

It had been hours, and Petrel had almost resigned himself to the idea that Proton would never return, prompting him to seriously consider heading out, getting wasted, and finding a ditch to crawl up in and never come out of. The waiting room was empty, now, save for the one appointment he had scheduled that didn't have to be canceled (Petrel recognized the guy as one of the ones who just wanted the drugs, and he considered screwing him up and giving him some cyanide, but then he remembered that Archer probably would not approve). Petrel sighed and rubbed his temples. He perked up at the sound of footsteps.

"Executive!" A couple of admins- Leo Decarli and Ashley Forhan, if he remembered correctly- were supporting one rather beat-up looking Proton between them. The greenette was practically limp in their grip, his eyes barely open as he took uncoordinated steps and labored breaths. Scratches on his face indicated bullets barely skimming across his cheeks; the holes in his torso, wounds more severe; Petrel was surprised he was even standing. Decarli and Forhan, on the other hand, barely had a scratch on either of them (well, Decarli looked to have a broken arm, but in the face of Proton's wounds, how bad was it, really?), and Petrel found himself wondering why the hell _they_ hadn't gotten hurt so badly.

"Oh, fuck, Lance..." Petrel quickly stepped back and shouted for a stretcher. As nurses hurried to comply, Proton gave a slight groan and tried to step away from his subordinates and towards Petrel. He stumbled, and Petrel swore and quickly caught him, bracing his young coutnerpart against himself. "Hey, Pro, it's alright, I got you... Just don't move, okay? Stay with me."

"No... no, no... Decarli...," Proton whispered. "Help Decarli..."

"Decarli's _fine_," Petrel said, once more a little more harsh than the situation called for. The nurses came up with the stretcher, then, and Petrel grunted as he picked his friend up and deposited him on top of it. "Go- hurry, we have to move fast, he's losing too much blood." He walked alongside them as they wheeled Proton towards the ER. "We're going to put you under, Pro, alright? Just leave it to me- I'll make sure you..." He paused, there- it wasn't even a possibility he wanted to consider. "...I'll make sure you live, Pro... Okay...?"

"Sir," one of the nurses said when they finally came to a stop inside the ER, "are you sure you're alright to do this?"

"There's no other choice," Petrel snapped. "We're wasting time; if Proton wants to live, we need to begin immediately." He strode passed her and quickly washed his hands before pulling on a pair of latex gloves and pulling a surgical mask over his face. Proton was given the anesthesia and sleeping gas; Petrel cut open his uniform and paused, staring at the bullet holes in his friend's exposed torso. His hands trembled slightly, and the nurse from earlier offered, once more, to take over, but he denied her. He had to do this; he was the only person he could trust with Proton's wellbeing. He couldn't screw up, now.

With a deep breath, he steadied himself, and set to work.

* * *

It had almost been two days since they'd put Proton under, and he was still asleep. Every waking moment (and as he barely slept, that was almost every moment) found Petrel in his friend's hospital room, working on his chemical equations, doing crossword puzzles, staring out the window, staring at Proton, staring at the machines monitoring Proton's vital signs, and occasionally reading some of those sappy romance novels Ariana had let him borrow that he'd never had time for. They were terribly cheesy, filled with clichés, and under normal circumstances, Petrel would have given them back without even making ti half-way through them, but as he absolutely refused to leave his friend's side, that wasn't exactly an option, and so suffer through them he did.

Once or twice, he thought he'd seen Proton stir, but it proved to be only his imagination. Mew, this was stressful; what he wouldn't give for a smoke, right about now. Of course, he told himself, he couldn't leave Proton all alone, in case he woke up, and smoking was forbidden in the medical wing, entirely. He contended himself with those damn romance novels, anyways. They were so terrible it was impossible to worry about his addictions.

"Petrel." He didn't look up. "Petrel, are you alive?" The word made him wince, and slowly, he turned his gaze towards the door.

"What do you want, Ariana?" he asked, tiredly.

"You look exhausted," the ginger executive said, taking the seat next to him. "You need to go get some sleep." Petrel shook his head vigorously.

"I can't," he replied. "I have to be here when he wakes up. I can't let him be alone."

"I'll stay here," Ariana offered. "It'll be alright. Go get some sleep, you deserve it."

"I _can't_. I appreciate the thought, Ari, I really do, but I am _not_ leaving Proton alone while he's hurt, like this, alright?"

"You're so over-protective, Petrel. Look- you did your job, and the boy's fine. He's just sleeping off whatever you pumped into his system. Go take a quick nap." Stubbornly, Petrel didn't move, and simply gripped the arms of his chair tightly. Ariana sighed. "Oh, fine. Let the record show that I tried to be nice- it's more than my brother would have done."

"Your brother would have told me to forget Proton and tend to Decarli."

"No, he wouldn't have. Archer has his priorities straight."

"Yeah, but he's hated Proton from day one. Yeah, okay, Pro's a little rebellious, and yeah, he doesn't do things by the book _at all_, but he told me that if I needed a better test subject for my experiments, Proton was _fair game_. His exact words, mind."

"I'm sure he was joking. He values both of you as strong members of the Team, and he knows how much you care for the boy."

"Ha, too bad I'm so fucking obvious about it, huh? One more thing for the asshole to use against me. We were on great terms until I started spending more time with Pro, but now he's _really_ starting to crack the whip down..." Ariana simply shook her head and stood.

"I suppose he does get jealous rather easily. On the other hand, I'm going to get some coffee- want anything?"

"Uh... sure. Coffee and a Kit-kat bar. I need all the energy I can get."

"Alright. Be right back." Petrel watched as Ariana left, shutting the door quietly behind her, and then turned his gaze back to Proton and resumed his patient, if distressed, waiting. He didn't have to wait much longer. Maybe it had been the conversation, or maybe the anesthesia was finally out of his system, but Proton's face contorted briefly into a grimace, and then slowly, his eyes opened. Petrel immediately froze.

"...Petrel...?" came his friend's whisper. "The hell happened...?"

"Oh, Mew!" Immediately, Petrel flew from his seat and threw his arms around Proton, pulling him into a tight hug. "Dammit, Proton, don't you _dare_ ever scare me like that again! You idiot, you almost died!" Proton blinked, frowning.

"Uh...? Huh?"

"You fucking used yourself as bait again, didn't you, you sonuvabitch?" Petrel began laughing. "You _moron_! You fucking _moron_, you know how many times you got shot?! I had to pull four bullets out of you! _Idiot_...!"

"Hey, P..." Proton squirmed a little and pushed him away, taking a moment to look him over. "Hey... you're crying...?" Petrel simply continued to laugh and sat back in his chair, holding his head in his hands and repeating over and over under his breath just how much of an idiot Proton was. Proton managed a small, amused smile, if a bit confused.

"I thought I lost you, man," Petrel said once he calmed down, wiping his eyes. "Mew... I wasn't sure if you were going to pull through, you lost so much _blood_..."

"Well, I have a friend who's a pretty good doctor," Proton replied. "I wasn't worried." Petrel laughed again.

"You're a fucking _idiot_!"

At the very least, he thought, as Proton ignored his insults and began recounting what he remembered of his grand, epic battle, this crises was averted. He'd just have to keep a closer eye on his friend, for a while.

**Believe it or not, this was one of the first ideas I had for this story, along with another one that's coming along down the line. Petrel just always seemed like he would be the most friendliest and most protective one of the group, and I'd imagine he'd be pretty shaken up if any of his friends got that badly hurt. Of course, Proton is special. :3 Review?**


	12. Bloody Poetry

Disclaimer: dissing any claims since 1809.

Proton liked the dark. He knew a lot of people who didn't- Decarli, for instance, which was amusing in and of itself, as the man was one of the highest-ranking members in the Security department. Sometimes, Proton simply enjoyed sitting back and watching him jump at the shadows of the Underground, flinch when the the creaking cells and settling bricks sounded, and swear when someone had decided to use their Ghost-type to play a prank on the poor guy. Of course, as amusing at it was, Proton still viewed him as a bit of a pussy, but that was beside the point.

No, the point was, Proton liked the dark- and in the U, that's all there was. His eyes never took long to adjust to the low lighting, a few minutes perhaps, at most, and it made everything so much simpler- he didn't have to think about color, only shape and smell and sound. His absolute favorites were the sounds of screams, loud and filled with a deep, deep pain; the smell of blood, heavy and metallic, staining the air and walls; the shape of his prisoners, beaten and broken on the ground before him as he arranged them into beautiful works of art. He loved nothing more than the weight of the switchblade in his palm, the stickiness when blood flowed freely onto his hand and wrist, and the deep red footprints he would leave in the elevator and in the hallways, only to be yelled at and lectured by Archer when he tracked it into his office. Proton enjoyed the simple things, you see, and there was nothing more simple than pain and suffering.

There were, of course, some problems with the U. Oh, nothing uncomfortable, or anything, no, Proton was quite content during the time he spent there. The problem was, after almost two years of picking on prisoners that, after the first few days, never fought back, it was becoming akin to, say, shooting fish in a barrel: boring. Dreadfully, dreadfully boring. Boredom was one of the things Proton absolutely loathed. He enjoyed challenges, but the U ran out of those, rather quick- Rockets who had ended up there for punishment were submissive as fuck, and those who did fight back quickly learned not to; on the other hand, outsiders who were taken in for interrogations were few and far in between, lasting maybe a week before cracking, themselves. Proton had only had two fresh outsiders since he'd even been assigned to the security department.

For quite some time, Proton simply mulled over the boredom the Underground presented him with. Any tactics he used to get a rise out of his prisoners, even the faintest of struggles, never worked more than once or twice. The problem must have been, he thought, that they were learning how he played his game. They were learning and playing it right back; they knew his strategies too well. It was no fun playing when the opponent knew how to play, too. Well, unless said game was on one of Petrel's consoles, in which case Proton preferred as fair a fight as possible, but then again, that was with _Petrel_. It was different.

That being said, the mostly-equal playing field in his mind games with the U prisoners was quite a puzzle to Proton, one he couldn't quite solve, and that frustrated him terribly, and so, he did the thing he always did when he got frustrated: he went out drinking in Goldenrod, alone, and attempted to pick up chicks. Not in his uniform, of course. Petrel would kill him if he went out drinking in his uniform.

Of course, then there was Proton's notoriously bad luck with women. He never had any trouble wooing them- he was sort of a natural when it came to flirting, something he attributed to his 'bad boy' charm- but he always seemed to pick the girls with the over-protective friends or who already had a significant other. There'd been that one embarrassing moment, once, (though looking back on it, it was kind of funny) when he'd tried to hit on a lesbian who made a big show of being completely wowed by his charisma before her girlfriend came back and they both had a good laugh at him. Petrel had been there at the time, actually, and the man wouldn't let it go. That was, in fact, why Proton both didn't invite Petrel, and spent more time than usual searching for potential lays from his dark little corner of the bar.

Sadly, he had almost finished his second drink, with no luck in finding a girl who was both bangable and single, or at least with inattentive friends. He had cursed his luck, deciding to leave and hit up the dance club several streets down once he'd used the restroom, when he saw her: flowing green hair, bright hazel eyes, a curving, slender figure... His eyes had raked over her hungrily, and he remembered feeling a primal, burning sensation settling within his stomach- an insatiable lust, but not the one he'd assumed he would be feeling. No, it had been the same one he felt every day he pulled the brim of his hat low over his eyes and stepped into the elevators zooming down to the Rocket Underground, the same one he had discovered his affinity towards when he had been only sixteen.

She caught him staring, of course. He hadn't minded. Their eyes had locked briefly, and he had smiled pleasantly at her; after a moment, she had smiled back. When she pointed him out to her two friends, they had glanced at him briefly and giggled when he had given them a small wave. Oh yes, he had told himself, this girl was going to be his salvation- at least, for now. He had been aware of their eyes on him as he had finished off his drink and strutted into the restroom to relieve himself. When he had returned, they had all been leaning close to chatter quietly amongst themselves, and Proton had found it quite simple to sneak up on them and take residence at the empty space across from them, asking loudly for the bartender to bring the four of them a round.

He had let all of them chatter on and on while he offered to buy them more and more drinks, telling them that he couldn't drink, himself, because he had to drive home afterwards, and they had already been drunk enough to believe him. It had been a simple matter from there to lay on the charm, nice and thick, while also making it quite clear to the green-haired girl's friend that he had only been interested in her in the first place. Once he had convinced her that, yes, he _was_ the son of the wealthy owner of the Game Corner, it had been even simpler to talk her into leaving with him, and her friends had, by then, already moved on to find some men for themselves, giving him a clear shot at his goal.

He had taken her out into the streets, telling her that he had something special to show her, leading her through the twisting, turning maze of back alleyways until they (or rather, she) were good and lost. Even in her drunken stupor, the girl had seemed to have some inkling of what was happening when he had shoved her up against the brick wall and forced himself onto her. She had tried to run, and he had given chase, but she hadn't known the alleyways of Goldenrod as well as he had. He had easily outstripped her, tackling her to ground, threatening her with his ever-present switchblade until she had given in and he had his way with her. Oh, how she cried and cried and cried, how she had begged, so incoherently. He had simply whispered sweet nothings in reply, telling her that it wouldn't matter, promising he would make her beautiful.

Then, he had smiled, and slit her pretty throat.

He had spent the next thirty minutes carefully carving intricate patterns into her flesh, only stopping once he was sure the blood had trickled and pooled just right, and once he'd been satisfied, he had spent another fifteen painting a beautiful poem around her corpse in her own blood. He'd painted it a little thing, of course- something he had told himself later he would improve at with time and practice- and after double-checking his handiwork, he had returned to a designated warp point and used the rental abra he'd brought along with him to teleport back to the base.

He didn't stop after that. Several times a week, it seemed, Proton would find himself scouring the bars and clubs at night, finding more and more pretty girls to make beautiful. He loved the hunt- it seemed to get harder and harder every time he tried, occasionally even testing his luck with girls who already had boyfriends, or whose friends had continued to warn her not to leave with him. Each and every time, interesting enough, his prey was always a girl with flowing, green hair, and bright, hazel eyes. The media had taken to calling him "The Raven", something about Edgar Allen Poe, or something? He had found it rather flattering that they had found his poetry that good, at any rate.

Each time the news aired a new story reviewing hid night-time escapades, however, Petrel would give him one of _those_ looks- the tired, unamused look rather akin to disappointment, occasionally prompting Proton to wonder if he should have just quit while he was ahead. But then he would go out, find a pretty, green-haired, hazel-eyed girl, and sate his overwhelming need for conflict.

It wasn't a terribly bad way to spend his Wednesday and Saturday nights, truth be told.

**So I felt like I had too much calm, happy Proton and not enough of his darker, more malevolent side, because it's kind of canon that he has one of those. .-. Ah, well. Maybe this is good? I dunno. Also, I needed an actual drabble, because I think the first eleven chapters are classified as one-shots...? You'd think I'd know by now.**


	13. Broken Hallelujah

Disclaimer: So I don't own Pokemon, and I also don't own Rufus Wainwright's cover of _Hallelujah_, though I will say this chapter is, like, 10x better if you listen to it while you read, in my opinion.

Proton sighed as he stared at his faintly glowing ceiling. It had been a while since his sleep schedule was disturbed, and this time wasn't even because he couldn't get to sleep. In fact, he'd gotten to sleep perfectly fine, despite still wearing half of his uniform and just how uncomfortable his boots were; he'd had a long day in the U, and had also been looking forward to sleeping for a long, long time. Now, of course, he was awake, again, and he couldn't just get back to sleep. He cast a weary glance at his slowpoke plushie and stared at it for a moment before deciding he was too lazy to throw his hat at it, again.

"You just love fucking with me while I sleep, don't you?" he asked accusingly. Without waiting to see if it would reply (as usual, it didn't- it was a plushie, after all), the greenette rolled out of bed and winced slightly as he placed his still-sore feet on the floor. Yeah, sleeping in high-heeled boots probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. After taking a moment to remove said boots, he proceeded out of his room and was about to go into the kitchen when something caught his attention. He came to a stop and turned to peer into the den curiously.

Petrel was sitting at his little piano, bathed in the full moon's light, and absently staring at the keys as he fingered something hanging around his neck. Proton considered, briefly, calling out to him, asking him what he was doing up, as it was almost four-thirty, but something in the back of his mind whispered that, if he did, he would be intruding upon something not exactly his business.

In fact, he was starting to feel bad just standing there, watching him, and he was about to quietly turn around and return to bed when Petrel let the something drop and settle against his collarbone as he began to gently begin playing. It was a beautiful melody, if somewhat melancholy- Proton was sure it was one well-rehearsed by his friend, and he pressed the keys so lovingly that the young Executive was certain it held a special place in his heart.

After a moment longer of repeating his movements, Petrel opened his mouth and inhaled as if to speak, and Proton was suddenly terrified that he'd been caught, but as it turned out, his friend had simply begun to sing, and what was even more surprising to him was that Petrel's singing _wasn't bad_. He could carry a tune remarkably well, and despite his smoking habits, his voice was crisp and clear.

_I've heard there was a secret chord  
That David played, and it pleased the Lord  
But you don't really care for music, do you?  
It goes like this:  
The fourth, the fifth,  
The minor fall, the major lift,  
The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

His tone was wistful, accompanied by a small, almost serene smile, and though his had been quite rigid when he'd begun playing, with every note he hit his body gradually loosened. Proton continued to watch him, completely enthralled and unable to leave, despite his mind constantly telling him this was something to which he was not meant to bear witness. Gradually, he noticed, through two more verses, Petrel's smile became bitter and ironic, completely ill-fitting to him.

_There was a time you'd let me know  
What's real and going on below,  
But now you never show it to me do you?  
Remember when I moved in you?  
The holy dark was moving, too  
And every breath we drew was hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

It was then Proton noticed something glisten faintly in the moonlight; under any normal circumstance, he would simply assume Petrel had decided to get makeup with glitter in it for some disguise or another. Under this circumstance? His friend's cracking smile and breaking voice told him enough. He didn't need to guess, as his tone had become one of complete and utter heart-break.

_Maybe there's a God above  
And all I ever learned from love  
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you  
It's not a cry you can hear at night  
It's not somebody who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

His voice trailed off, and slowly, so did his music, his hands slowing until, eventually, they ceased moving at all, and Petrel simply remained there for some time, staring at his piano until, eventually he stood. He took another breath and tried to speak, but to even get words out seemed to be a struggle for him, now.

"...Happy anniversary," he finally managed to whisper. He grasped the thing around his neck tightly in his hand and abruptly turned around, presumably to return to his room. Upon seeing Proton, however, he stopped dead in his tracks, and the two simply stood there, staring at each other wide-eyed and having been caught by the other. He shouldn't have been watching. Proton lowered his head almost ashamedly.

"...Sorry," he mumbled. "I... I didn't mean to... But, it just sounded so... _you_ sounded so..." He shifted uncomfortably under Petrel's gaze, fully expecting to be punched or at least yelled at in some way. Instead, however, Petrel cast his eyes down, as well.

"It was his favorite song," he simply said. "I learned how to play it so I could surprise him, one year, for his birthday." The purple executive turned again, this time going to sit on the couch, and he stared at Proton expectantly as he patted the spot next to him. Proton shifted and sighed before, out of his own guilt, obediently going to sit next to him. They remained quiet for a moment, staring out at the moon, before Petrel continued. "It would have been five years, today. Five years- can you imagine? Sometimes I wonder what would be happening if he were still around. If you had asked me when I was fifteen, though, I don't think this would have been my answer."

"Look, Petrel, I really am sorry, I didn't have any right-" His friend waved his concerns aside with one hand, leaning back into the couch.

"It's alright," he cut him off, "I'm not mad. It wasn't supposed to be a secret, I just... I was being quiet because I didn't want to wake you up, or anything, you looked like a zombie when you came home, today. That's not what I wanted to talk about, anyways..."

Proton's brow furrowed as Petrel suddenly sat up and turned to face him, holding up the small pendant hanging around his neck. Now that he'd had a good look, of course, he recognized it, easily. It was silver and sort of tear drop-like in shape, with some parts protruding here and there. It represented Lugia, one of a pair of Legendaries worshipped in Johto, and the patron Legendary of Proton's own family. Vaguely, he remembered a larger version that had sat upon the mantle of their house in Viridan, and then of their house in Goldenrod. He'd been very little the last time he'd seen it, of course, and his mother had never really practiced Guardianism, so he couldn't say he remembered _much. _

"He was a Guardianist," Petrel said, "he had a bigger one that he kept on a shelf in our room. When he... when he was gone, I gave it back to his parents, but... This was the one I gave him when we first started dating. I actually went to the church in Saffron to get it, for him. It was supposed to protect him. He wore it for _years_, swore it worked... He got out of so many dangerous situations with it, it was hard to believe it didn't." He laughed bitterly and clenched his hand tightly around it. "I don't know why he didn't bring it with him. I guess he didn't think he'd need it all the way up in Russia, I don't know... I... I just wish so bad he _did_."

"Petrel...?" What could he possibly say? What could he _possibly_ fucking say? Proton couldn't even begin to imagine how Petrel was feeling, at the moment. Death had never bothered him. He'd never thought about it, even thought he kept hearing it was supposed to be sad. And now, here he was faced with the truth of that statement, and he couldn't think of a damn thing he could possibly say to comfort his best friend. "Petrel, you- I mean, it's-...? I... Petrel, I'm-"

"Don't you fucking _dare_ finish that with 'sorry'," Petrel chuckled. "Look, don't worry about it, okay? That wasn't the point, either. I'm sorry, I know I just keep rambling on and on and on... Uhm, but..." He took a moment to reach behind his neck and undo the clasp before reaching out to grab Proton's wrist and pull his hand forward. He dropped the pendant into the greenette's open palm, and then manually closed his fingers over it. "I... want you to have it... okay?" He stared at the couch, then the floor, pointedly avoiding Proton's gaze. "You've been going out and doing some crazy shit, lately... And then we have all those big missions in Kanto coming up... So... whenever you go out on missions or go Mew knows where on Wednesdays and Saturdays, just... just make sure you have it with you. Alright?"

"I don't think I could possibly take this," Proton replied, frowning as he eyed his blurry reflection in the pendant's face.

"_Proton_." The two looked up and locked gazes. Petrel looked dead serious, giving Proton that 'don't fuck with me' look he always got when he tried to convince the man to do anything even relatively against the handbook. "_Promise me_." Proton slowly glanced back down at the pendant, and after a moment, worked the clasp and secured it around his neck. It fell quite comfortably against his chest, and he had to admit- he didn't look half-bad with it on.

"I promise," he said quietly. "Don't worry, Petrel. I promise." Petrel nodded in satisfaction, and the two leaned back into the couch and remained there, silently, for quite some time. Eventually, however, Proton's curiosity got the better of him, and he glanced at the piano. "Hey, Petrel..."

"Hm?"

"Can you teach me how to play?" Petrel cast him a semi-amused glance and stood, heading back over to sit at the piano bench. Proton followed and, once more, sat next to him.

"Don't worry, Pro, it's actually pretty easy once you get the hang of it..."

They played until the sun rose, and they had to get ready for work.

**So I was sitting around trying to come up with a new, shiny-sparkly chapter of sparkliness, and was convinced I probably wouldn't come up with anything good for a few more weeks, when Pandora all of a sudden starts playing Rufus Wainwright's cover of _Hallelujah_, and I just sat there for a while before I suddenly started imagining my headcanon for Petrel to it. Then I realized all of the backstory I've been working on for him fits into this song remarkably well, and I had ALL the feels. The worst part is that I remembered I was making it worse, later. Oh, dear.**


	14. Pre-Crime Origami

Disclaimer: One, two, three, four, I don't own this. I don't own this, one, two, three, four. Everybody sing the song of not-owned. One, two, three, four, I don't own this.

It was the first time in a long while that Proton had been to Kanto, and to be honest, he'd always thought that, if he returned, it would have been an innocent visit, most likely to Viridan, so he could see what had become of his childhood home, and not anything at all like his current endeavors. He was currently sitting around beneath the Celadon Game Corner in a temporary makeshift office he was sharing with Petrel. It also happened to double as their current living quarters, and Proton found himself wondering why they weren't staying at the Kanto HQ, instead- it _had_ to be more comfortable than their current situation.

Somehow, they'd managed to fit two desks and an examination chair into the room with barely enough room for a futon in the back corner that they had to share. It's not like he _minded_ the close quarters, or having to essentially spoon Petrel so the both of them would fit under the Lugia-damned sheets (it got pretty cold at night), and Petrel didn't seem to really mind, either- it was just that the current arrangement was kind of cramped, and they didn't even have enough room for Twitch to come out and stretch his wings. Also, the fact that they had to sleep with the smell of antiseptic and whatever else Petrel had to bring with him pertaining to his medic duties was somewhat off-putting, though they did get used to it, eventually.

Truth be told, the Game Corner was actually a prime location for their current objective: they were going to begin an assault on Silph Co. soon, as well as an assault on Lavender Tower, and Celadon was close to both Saffron and Lavender. Team Rocket would be completely taking over the former of the two cities, as well as the entirety of the Silph building, and while Archer and the Boss engaged in negotiations with the company's president, Proton got to have fun terrorizing the entire Lugia-damned building in an effort to find any sort of information on pokeball development that looked like it could possibly be something that would benefit the team.

This was extremely exciting, for two reasons: the first, he got to see all sorts of science and pokeball models not even announced to the public, yes, and the second... pure, unadulterated mayhem. Archer was letting him run wild, handle the mission whichever way he saw fit, and just in general cause all sorts of problems for Silph. Proton was already considering finding the member's of his father's old dev team and taking them back to Johto for, ah... _questioning_. Maybe, just maybe, he'd even get to have a little bloodshed before they split. This was going to be fun as hell. With a huge grin, the young Executive stretched in his chair and began spinning around giddily. Petrel spared him a glance from his side of the desk space, though he continued to work on his charts diligently.

"Someone's excited," he said evenly. "When do you set out, again?"

"Four hours," Proton replied, slowing to a stop only to begin spinning in the opposite direction. "I get to bring my full team, too! This is gonna be a _blast_. Are you sure you won't be able to get on-site for this one, P? C'mon, it's _Silph_, man, think of all the research _you_ could jack." Petrel sighed and shook his head, pausing in his work to turn and give Proton his full attention.

"I tried to talk Archer into it, and when he wouldn't let me, I tried Ariana, too," he said. "The answer was pretty much the same. My injury makes me too much of a liability." Proton rolled his eyes.

"_Lame,_" he huffed, frowning. "Wasn't that crash, like, _years_ ago, anyways? You'd think by now, you'd be clear to at least be the fuckin' on-site _medic_."

"Yeah, you'd think so," Petrel agreed, "but apparently four years of physical therapy doesn't mean jack shit when you still can't stand up straight without feeling like you're getting stabbed fifty times. No, while you guys get to go off and have all the fun, I get to sit around here and look after the assholes who were _too cool_ to come get their flu shots. ...Dammit, Pro, stop spinning, you're making _me_ want to vomit." Proton pouted and dug his heels into the tile, halting his chair.

"Aw, you're no fun," he accused, "then again, I guess we _do_ have to sleep in here, and knowing you, you passive-aggressive bastard, you'd just fuckin' make me sleep through the smell." Petrel simply laughed at that.

"Oh, you have no idea," he replied. "Of course, then _I_ would have to sleep through it, and I'm not too keen on that, either, so it's in both of our best interests that you don't spin." Proton gave him his best puppy eyes.

"But Petrel, I'm _bored_..." Petrel cocked an eyebrow and smirked lazily.

"Oh? That can be easily remedied, my good sir." He motioned to his stack of medical files. "Know any good origami?" Proton snickered.

"Oh, Archer's gonna be _pissed_!" he exclaimed. "I can make a murkrow and some kick-ass paper airplanes. You?" Petrel didn't reply; instead, he took the top file and began to quickly being folding it. Proton watched him for a while curiously, before his friend held up the fruits of his endeavors: a leaping politoed. Petrel placed it on his desk and pressed on its back legs, forcing it to hop.

"Politoed." The two watched as its hop directory took it into the empty air surrounding the desk, where gravity opened its maw, chomped down, and performed a death-roll. The origami hit the ground with a satisfying crinkling sound. "This is literally all I ever do when you guys go on missions. I sit around and make fucking origami out of important documents. I can make pretty much any pokemon ever discovered _ever_."

"Oh?" Proton scooted his chair over to Petrel's desk and grabbed one of the documents. "Can you show me how to make a slowpoke, then?"

"You just want to know how to make the tail, don't you?"

"Nah, I wanna make the whole slowpoke."

"Why the _whole_ slowpoke?"

"Because then I can cut the tail off. Duh." Petrel simply stared at Proton, completely deadpanned, and Proton stared back expectantly. "Well? C'mon, show me." Petrel shook his head and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "PeTA would _not_ approve" and grabbed another sheet, himself.

"Alright, so first, you gotta start sort of like you're making a politoed, but you have to leave enough space for a tail, too..."

The two spent quite some time sitting there, making origami- almost two hours, in fact. They'd been able to make two tiny armies of origami-mon, covering both desks and part of the floor, and they had been assembling their ranks for an all-out war against the other (they both even had their own paper admiral's hat to add to the authenticity) when there was a brisk knock on the door, and Archer stepped inside.

"Sorry to barge in, Petrel," he was saying, staring at a clipboard in his hands, "but I have some questions about a few of these grunts I'm having to take in... my... squad...?" He glanced up and frowned when met with the rather immature sight of two young adults (Rocket Executives, to boot) wearing cheesy admiral's hats and setting up a war with origami figures. Proton and Petrel simply stared at him. "...For the love of Ho-Oh, you two are _such children_." Archer sighed heavily and shook his head. "Just... just find me files on these three?" He held his clipboard out and Petrel awkwardly took it from his and glanced it over.

"Er... Oh, these three... Uhm... Hey, Pro, do me a favor and start checking all of your slowpoke. I'll check my mewtwo and all of my electabuzz. I'm _pretty_ _sure_ these three will be around those guys, somewhere," he said. Proton didn't reply; instead, he stared at his thirty or so slowpoke and frowned heavily. Archer sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment of more awkward silence, Petrel opened his mouth to say something else, but Archer held up a hand, effectively silencing him.

"You used the medical documents for your origami," the blue executive said in that deadly calm tone of his. Petrel and Proton exchanged glances.

"Er... well, you see..."

"Whose idea was it?" The younger two immediately pointed at each other, poker-faced. Archer simply stared at them, and when neither made a move to take full credit, he let out a sound Proton was sure was a sigh, but sounded more akin to a growl. "Proton, you should be attending to your crew. You set off in less than two hours. Petrel, from you I expected much more. Get these damn papers in order- if I find a _single one_ with so much as a _corner_ missing, you can expect unyielding punishment. Do I make myself clear to the both of you?" He stared at them expectantly; Petrel mumbled in reply and lowered his head.

"Yeah, whatever, Sparky," Proton said, standing. "I'll get on that, I guess. Hey, P-Trizzle, let's celebrate when this is all over, yeah? Drinks, on me."

"Don't forget the necklace," Petrel replied, "I'll kill you if you leave it behind, I swear." Proton fished the pendant out from beneath his shirt and waved it slightly at him before grinning broadly and leaving the small room.

Time to have some fun.

* * *

**Filler! Filler night! There ain't no second chance against that fic with forty "I"s, girl! You're fighting for your mind inside a stiller filler tonight! On the bright side, next chapter is more drama. Wheee, DRAMA.**


	15. Silph Screw-Up

Disclaimer: Here be shippings. Ye hath been warned.

The take-over had gone smoothly enough. A pointed gun here, an intimidating group of Rockets there, and a few broken bones were all it had taken, and quite frankly, Proton was rather proud of himself. His own team had been quick and efficient, spreading out as per their original plan across the entire tenth floor, keeping it securely under Proton's control. The rest of the building and the entire city, as well- he'd been the one to determine the posts of every Rocket that had been brought along, today, and even Archer had stopped by to admit (grudgingly) that their security was incredibly tight. All that was left was for the young Executive to find what he could before the Boss was finished with his negotiations.

He'd been digging around through some offices when Decarli had approached and informed him of their intruder; apparently, whoever had been guarding the front door had decided to get drunk and pass out, and so some plucky kid with an ivysaur was running around causing quite a bit of confusion amongst the team. Proton had simply waved his concerns aside and told him no _kid_ was going to be able to defeat the _entire Lugia-dammed Team_, especially once he reached the tenth floor. He had instructed Decarli to not lose against some brat, and to use lethal force if needed; Decarli had seemed a little dubious as he'd left to return to his post, but Proton had payed him no mind and continued his search.

He'd managed to lay his hands on several prototype pokeballs when he was accosted by the kid with the ivysaur,, and needless to say, that pissed him off a little bit.

"Dammit, Decarli," he muttered, turning away from his work. "The hell do you want, kid?! Don't you know not to bother grown-ups when they're busy?!" The boy simply glowered at him.

"You're Team Rocket, right?" he replied. "I'm here to stop you guys! C'mon, battle me! Saur, are you ready?" Proton let out an exasperated sigh and fixed the boy with a dry stare.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but do you _actually_ think you can beat me in a battle, half-pint? And even if you did, do you think that would _somehow_, _magically_, make me stop what I'm doing?" The boy didn't reply, seemingly waiting for him to make a move. Proton face-palmed. "Why do I even bother...? Twitch, humor the kid..." Twitch swooped down from the ceiling to hover just in front of Proton, screeching.

"A zubat, huh? Saur, use Stun Spore!"

"Ivy!" The ivysaur took a few lumbering steps forward and shook its flower bud furiously, loosing little yellow dust-like particles into the air. Proton watched lazily as Twitch simply countered with Whirlwind, and satisfied his zubat knew what he was doing, the executive returned to rifling through the desks. It was only when he was met with the sound of crackling electricity and the boy's cheers of victory that he finally turned to see what was going on, only to find his poor Twitch laying in a crumpled heap on the floor, covered in electrical burns. Next to the boy was now a pikachu, which he was praising endlessly, and Proton couldn't help but scowl. After a moment, however, the boy looked up at him.

"You owe me money."

Silence.

"...What?" Proton's brow furrowed. The kid rolled his eyes and motioned to the fallen zubat.

"I beat you. You owe me money." Proton gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as he mentally counted to ten (it turned out, Giovanni had said no wanton slaughter, and his orders _kind of_ overrode Archer's, so...) before digging out his wallet, pulling out a few coins, and throwing them at the kid. He was proud to say he'd nailed him in the face, smack dab between the eyes, and the boy had only frowned, rubbed at the spot where they'd hit, and leaned over to collect. Just as quickly as he came, he was gone, and Proton sighed again as he recalled Twitch and proceeded to begin hacking into Silph's computers. It's not like the kid had been better than him- if he'd actually put effort into it, Proton was certain he wouldn't have wasted any time in beating the kid into the ground, and so would any of his men on the tenth floor, or Archer's on the eleventh. Even if the kid _did_ beat all of them, there was _no way_ he would beat Giovanni, and so, really, their entire operation was still pretty safe.

Apparently, he thought wrong. It hadn't been more than an hour later when Proton heard footsteps, and he glanced up to see one rather pissed Archer walking briskly towards him.

"Archer, hey," he greeted. "Are you all finished, already? I wasn't expecting things to go that _quick_..."

"Yes, well," Archer replied angrily, "then again, I suppose you weren't expecting your men to fall asleep on the job or for some kid off the streets to single-handedly annihilate our manpower."

"Wait, _what_?" Proton' eyes widened significantly. "He actually beat _everybody_?"

"Ah, so you _were_ aware of him. Tell me, Proton, _why_ did you think letting a child- with pokemon, I might add- run around during our _delicate_ negotiations was a _good_ idea?" Annnnnddddd, there it was, Archer's 'I'm going to murder you while you sleep and feast on your entrails' face.

"Er..." Hesitantly, Proton took a small step backwards. "I... I didn't think that a _kid..._" Archer advanced on him, eyes gleaming predatorily. He didn't like this; no, Proton didn't like this, one bit. He was _never_ the one with his back to the wall, he was _never_ the one cowering in fear, he was _always_ the one in control.

"No, you didn't," Archer agreed quietly. "You didn't think, _period_." Suddenly, his hand shot forward, and Proton threw his arm up to block his face- he needn't have bothered, of course, as it seemed his face was not Archer's target. The hand clamped vice-like around his neck was proof enough. Proton found himself struggling to breathe, and he clawed at Archer's hand as he began to choke; sadly, despite his small frame, Archer was quite powerful, and the young executive's pathetic, desperate scrabblings weren't enough to even phase him. "_You screwed up_."

In a last-ditch effort, Proton threw a punch at Archer's head. Archer didn't blink as he caught the punch, and he growled, slamming Proton into the wall. His grip on the greenette's neck tightened, and Proton felt his lungs close off, completely. Just as he was about to black out, however, Archer threw him to the floor, releasing him in the process. He coughed and gasped for air as he slowly rolled over to push himself to his feet, though just as he had that fateful day almost two years ago, he found his wrists in the process of being bound behind his back, and a blindfold was forced over his eyes. Idly, he remembered wondering what was going to happen before he felt a blinding pain in the side of his head, and everything went dark.

* * *

Something smelled funny. Like antiseptic, actually. Maybe bleach, or a spray disinfectant, Proton wasn't exactly sure, though it certainly wasn't fabreeze. Also, his head hurt, very badly. There was probably a good reason, for that. He groaned and shifted, trying to remember just what had happened. Ah, right, he;d been at Silph, and then that kid had showed up, and then Archer had been angry, and... oh. ...Oh. Well. This was somewhat of a predicament he found himself in. But then, if he were in trouble, wouldn't he be down in the U? Could Executives even go to the U? Damn, his head _hurt_! The hell did Archer do to him?

With another groan, slightly louder this time, Proton slowly opened his eyes. Thankfully, it seemed the blindfold had long since been removed, and he was met with a familiar plaster ceiling and bright lights. So he _had_ been taken back to Johto. Just how long had he been out? Did Petrel know what was going on? As he attempted to sit up, he found he couldn't, as he was restrained by several leather straps attached to whatever he was laying on- judging by the stiffness, he was going to say a table. Also, for whatever reason, he was missing his uniform's shirt. Frowning, he looked up and glanced around. There were cabinets and stands all around the room, one with a sink set into its surface, and one with some file folder sitting on top of it, or something. A machine sat near the door, blinking a red light on and off. Idly, he wondered what it was.

"...Hello?" Proton called out after a moment. "Anyone here?" The replied silence was enough to tell him, no, probably not, and he huffed angrily. "Dammit... the hell's going on...?" He was left to ponder in silence, and made the most of it by trying to count the number of dots on the ceiling. He'd gotten to about three hundred two when the only door in the room creaked open, and a certain purple-haired executive walked in, his eyes glued to a clipboard in his hand. Proton immediately felt a wave of relief wash over him- he must have just been here for medical reasons, then. That was all. Once Petrel could see that he was fine, he'd be let up, and they would be able to go out and have those drinks despite his complete screw-up at Silph.

"Petrel!" he greeted. "Hey, man! Ha, I was kind of nervous when I woke up and no one was in here, I thought it was a new section of the U... So what's going on? This the new procedure for physicals?" Petrel ignored him and scribbled something on his clipboard before going over to check the still-blinking machine in the corner. Proton frowned. "Oi. P. I know you can hear me, man. What's the deal?" Again, Petrel ignored him, this time going to leaf through the folder next to the sink. Proton scowled. "HEY! I'm talking to you, bastard!" That caught his friend's attention, if only a little. Petrel graced him with a fleeting glance before closing the folder and turning the tap on, washing his hands. Proton scowled and let his head fall back onto the table. "You could at _least_ tell me where we are..."

"...You don't recognize it?" Petrel replied quietly. He turned the tap off and dried his hands on some paper towels. "I guess that's not surprising. You were only in here once before."

"Oh, _now_ you talk to me. It looks like some weird operation room."

"Close. It's that little room connected to my office."

"Eh? This place?" Proton's scowl lightened into a confused frown, and he tilted his head. "You left some surgical tools in there, once, and we had to go back for them. I remember that. So... I'm here for surgery? What, did I get shot, or something?" Ah, and back to Petrel not talking to him. Dandy. It was odd for him to be so _distant_; Petrel was probably the friendliest person he'd ever met, and normally he wouldn't just fucking _shut up_. Now that he had, it was the oddest thing in the world, and Proton made a mental note to never ask Petrel to be quiet ever again. He contented himself with merely watching as Petrel continued to move here and there about the small room, checking things Proton didn't really know much about, until, eventually, he came to a stop somewhere behind the young executive and wheeled into sight a small cart with a number of syringes on it. Proton blinked. "P... what are those...?" Petrel didn't even look at him. Instead, he delicately picked up one of the syringes and peered through its clear surface into the liquid.

"It's never come out colorless, before," he said quietly. His voice was cold, almost devoid of any emotion. All of a sudden, Proton didn't feel very safe, anymore. "...I hope that doesn't mean there were any complications."

"Petrel... Petrel, what's in that...?" He tried to squirm his way out of the straps as Petrel used a cotton ball to sterilize a spot on his bicep, and slowly, glanced between Proton and the remaining syringes. Suddenly, it hit him. "...Oh... oh, _Lugia_... Those are...? Petrel, I thought you said the serum wasn't finished!" His friend paused, the needle centimeters away from his skin, and for the first time since he'd entered the room, he met Proton's gaze. Despite his stony expression, his eyes betrayed him- he looked scared, stressed, confused, angry... He didn't want to be here, Proton realized. He didn't want to be the one doing this.

"It's not," the purple-haired executive confirmed. "I've barely made any changes since the last time it was tested." His eyes flickered down to the needle, then back up to Proton's face. "...It's... it's Archer's orders, Pro... I... I can't disobey him, he's my direct superior..." Proton let out a small, strained laugh.

"I... I get it," he said. "He knows it's unfinished. He's trying to kill me. If I'd realized one little screw-up would put me in _this_ situation..." Awkwardly, he smiled. "Well... alright. I... I guess we'll see if this pendant really works... huh..?" There was another silence in which neither of them moved, though Petrel returned his gaze to Proton's arm and his grip on the syringe tightened. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but after a wordless moment, closed it, and repeated the process several times.

"...I can't do this!" he exclaimed at last. He stood up and dropped the needle back onto the tray, turning around and gripping his hair with one hand. "_I can't fucking do this_! It's not finished, there's no chance you'll even _survive_... I just can't fucking do this!"

"Petrel...? It's... okay." Proton cast his gaze down towards the floor. "This is my own fault. This is my punishment for Silph... I... I can accept that."

"You're an _idiot_!" Petrel snapped. He whirled around, fixing Proton with a rather un-Pretrel-like glare. "Do you _really_ think this is just _your_ punishment?! If Archer wanted to just kill you and get it over with, he'd do it himself! _I'm_ being punished, here, too! _Ugh_..." He face-palmed and sighed. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout. I'm... just a little stressed right now, y'know...?"

"What do you mean, though? Why would _you_ be punished? You're the _definition_ of 'Rocket', P...," Proton replied. Petrel sighed and leaned back against one of the cabinets, digging in his pocket for his cigarettes.

"I'm being punished because I changed," he murmured. When Proton merely blinked, he pressed on. "Before you climbed aboard, Pro, I was that one guy who showed up early, worked overtime, and never had a social life, alright? I got work done, I got it done efficiently, and I never goofed around. Archer _loved_ it, and... I thought I did, too... You bury yourself so deep in your work, you refuse to make friends... no heartbreak, you see? It's completely avoided." He lit up and took a long drag. "But... then you came along. I only hung around with you because I was ordered to make sure you were acclimating alright. Original plan was to go right back to being a loner the instant you were an Exec. Then you moved into my apartment, and... I dunno. Things changed. I had someone to talk to- someone to show me it was okay to take breaks, and have some fun from time to time." He paused there, eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced Proton over. "Someone to show me it was okay to get attached, again."

"So, basically," Proton summed up, "Archer's just being a jealous bitch." Petrel snorted.

"No," he disagreed, "he's punishing me because I got too attached."

"What do you mean, 'too attached'?" Proton tilted his head, confused. Quite frankly, he hadn't been aware that there was something such as too much friendship, as childish as that may sound. Petrel laughed outright, this time, and shook his head in disbelief, stepping back towards the table.

"Everyone else manages to see it but you," he mused, "it makes me wonder if you're really that oblivious, or if you're just screwing with me."

"I don't know...?"

"Idiot." To be honest, Proton wasn't quite sure what had happened. One moment Petrel had been standing there talking about 'too much friendship' (ugh, seriously, that sounded like the episode name of some stupid kid's show), and the next there had been a pair of soft, warm lips pressed against his own in a chaste kiss, and a large hand gently caressing his cheek. It took him several seconds to process that he was being _kissed_ by _Petrel_- his _best friend_, mind (well, gay best friend, but _still_)- and quite frankly, he wasn't sure how to handle the situation. He didn't kiss back, of course- he was pretty damn sure he'd never been attracted to Petrel that way- but he couldn't exactly push him away, due to the restraints. He considered trying to yell at him, but he wasn't sure if that would be misconstrued as attempting to make out, and so he just kept still with his mouth firmly shut until Petrel pulled back. The two were silent for a few seconds, simply gaging each other's reaction, before Petrel cracked a small smile.

"That was nice," he said quietly. "Damn, have I wanted to do _that_ for a long time. Ah... sorry, by the way. I don't exactly have the best control over myself, right now." Proton felt his face heating up slightly, and he scowled.

"Whatever," he said irritably, "you made your point, anyways..." Petrel snickered and turned towards the tray of needles.

"Well, now," he continued, "I guess that was all I needed. I can definitely do this, now." Proton's eyes widened.

"Whoa, wait, what?! You're still gonna-?!" Before he was able to finish his sentence, Petrel had grabbed an electric pencil sharpener that had totally been there the whole time and raised it over his head, swinging it down to smash the syringes entirely. Proton watched, quite surprised, as Petrel went to throw the remains away into the biohazard can, and then washed the liquid off the tray and tidied up the rest of the room. "I... I don't understand, how's that gonna help...?"

"That was my last sample," Petrel explained, "and I'm the only one who knows how to make the serum, right now. He can't use me to kill you, Pro. I'm not going to let him." He took a drag on his cigarette and motioned to the security camera by the door. "He's seen, of course. I've no doubt he was watching us very closely this entire time. We have approximately five minutes. Shall I let you up, then?"

"Please," Proton agreed. "I'm gonna punch that motherfucker so damn hard...!" Petrel snickered and began to undo the straps. Once he was able to, Proton sat up and stretched, cracking his back (Petrel winced at that) and standing up. "Ah, that feels better... So, uh..." He shifted awkwardly on his feet, and Petrel, noting his minor distress, glanced down at his cigarette before offering it wordlessly to him. Automatically, Proton reached out to accept it, however he paused mid-way and frowned slightly, quite aware that it had just been in his friend's mouth, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for _another_ experience with the purple executive's saliva, that day. After a moment, Petrel simply shrugged and continued smoking.

"'So, uh', what?" he prompted. Proton's brow furrowed.

"You... you know I'm straight, right?" Petrel laughed and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, "I know. Doesn't make you any less fucking adorable, though." The door opened; the two of them turned to watch as Archer strode purposefully in, followed by a couple guards.

"I'm disappointed, Petrel." The bluenette's cool gaze flickered between the two of them, and while Proton scowled, Petrel simply smiled.

"What can I say?" the purple executive replied. "Proton's rebellious streak's been rubbing off on me."

"I am well-aware. Needless to say, your insurrection is unacceptable. Forhan, Carillo, escort Mr. Orpheon to my private block, if you would. I'll be down, shortly." Two of the three guards stepped forward obediently, and Petrel patiently allowed them to bind his wrists behind his back before following them out of the room, casting Proton a final, proud grin as he did so. Once they had left, Archer turned his attention to Proton. "As for you..."

"You can't have me killed unless Giovanni's sanctioned it," Proton growled, cutting him off. "If you're gonna send me to the firin' squad, show me your Lugia-damned papers!" Archer didn't bat an eye.

"I was hasty in my initial sentencing," he admitted, "and Master Giovanni certainly would not be pleased if I killed his pet engineer. Next week, Ariana and I are going to our branch in the Sevii Islands to direct the operations, there. Petrel, having seniority over you, shall be in charge until we return, and he will be needing all the help he can get. You will remain on house arrest until then; Decarli, here, shall be making sure you don't attempt to sneak out." The admin gave Proton a strained smile over Archer's shoulder, and Proton nodded to him. Archer stood aside as the green executive strode forward to follow Decarli out. "Be warned, Proton. I do not tolerate failure- especially not twice. Next time, I _will_ have Master Giovanni's permission."

"Yeah, keep talking," Proton sneered, "you're all bark and no bite. Let's go, Decarli."

* * *

Overall, being grounded wasn't so bad. The one time it had happened, previously, Proton and Petrel had simply spent their time lazing around, talking, and occasionally playing on Petrel's Dreamcast, and since they weren't allowed to leave, once they'd run out of food they simply had to give a list and some cash to one of the guards outside their door, and someone would make a grocery run for them. The only real problems were Petrel having minor panic attacks for being unable to access the base's intranet, therefore keeping him from getting any work done, and Proton's bloodlust getting a little out of hand, now and again. Overall, however, nothing life-threatening had ever happened, and this time they could get around to finishing that origami war they'd never had. Overall, it would be like a little vacation- a vacation where Petrel would likely have several broken bones and wounds to attend to, and where Proton would have to come to terms with his friend's feelings. Yeah. Fun.

Once he'd actually gotten back to their apartment, he'd gone and changed into his pajamas (if he was going to be forced to remain home, he was going to do it _right_) before raiding the fridge for their remaining beers and taking them into the den, where he plopped down on the couch, popped the top off of one, turned the news on, and began to wait. As Petrel was to be taking over in a week's time, it was silly to think Archer would do any _lasting_ damage, and so it was viable Proton's friend would be returning, that night. He was not disappointed.

It was nearing ten when the door opened and Petrel limped in with a torn, tattered uniform and somewhat bloody bandages wrapped around his arms and torso. Proton turned to watch, waiting to get up and help him if needed, but Petrel didn't so much as speak as he removed his boots and continued limping into den, slowly taking his usual spot next to Proton with a pained grunt.

"How're ya doin'?" the young executive asked. Petrel shrugged one shoulder and reached forward to grab a beer from the coffee table.

"I've been worse," he replied. "But I'm about to be much better. As a wise man once said, 'alcohol- the cause of and solution to all of life's problems'." Proton snorted and shook his head as Petrel popped the cap off the bottle and took a swig. "Eh. It's kind of warm."

"I thought you'd be back sooner," Proton explained, "I didn't realize you'd take so long." Petrel laughed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

"You put too much faith in me, Pro," he whispered. "_Way_ too much..." Proton didn't reply. He simply took a sip of his own brew and turned his attention back to the five-day forecast that wouldn't mean anything to either of them, considering possibly flipping through the channels to see if _Frasier_ was on. In fact, he leaned forward to grab the remote and did just that, smiling slightly when he found it. When he settled back into the couch, however, he felt something distinctly not-couch behind him, and that not-couch something wasted no time in wrapping loosely around his waist and pulling him to lean against Petrel. Proton flailed slightly, completely taken off-guard, but once he realized what had happened, he turned and glared at his friend.

"Dammit, Petrel, what the hell?!" he snapped. "I thought we already fucking established I'm-!"

"Just give me this one, Lance," Petrel murmured, not once opening his eyes. "Please." Ahhhh, guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt. Petrel _had_ gone to the U for him, and quite possibly saved his life for the second time. On top of that, he must have been pretty damn lonely... With a mental groan, Proton shook his head and sighed, snuggling back against Petrel and leaning his head against the crook of the taller man's neck.

"Alright," he agreed tiredly. "But just this once, and only because I owe you one."

"You owe me one twice," Petrel disagreed, "one for today and one for that stupid-ass stunt you pulled by Olivine."

"I let you kiss me," Proton pointed out. "That counts for one of the twices."

"No it doesn't. You were tied down, you couldn't do anything about it."

"Fine. I'll cook you dinner, tomorrow, how about that?"

"Ha, _no_. You'd make slowpoke tail, don't think I'm not on to your shenanigans."

"Well, what, then? 'Cause I ain't kissin' you again, you taste like cigarettes." Petrel paused and opened his eyes, gazing down at Proton thoughtfully.

"Alright," he agreed, "but you have to snuggle with me again, tomorrow. Final offer, take it or continue to owe me." Proton rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"I'm not one to stay in debt," he replied, "and we have nothing better to do, anyways, I guess. We're stuck in here all week." Petrel frowned slightly and took another swig of his beer.

"I noticed. I guess it's better than the alternative." He shrugged and turned his attention to their TV. "...If you're not comfortable with this, you can just say it. I'll understand."

"I noticed 'I'll let you go' wasn't part of your sentence," Proton replied. "Besides, you're actually kinda comfortable. Now shut up, this episode's funny." Petrel snickered.

They remained that way the rest of the night, watching random sitcoms and reality shows, and finishing off the last of their beers. To be honest, at first, Proton had been a little uncomfortable with the snuggling, but as time went on, he was gradually able to ignore it (the alcohol probably helped with that) and the last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was some episode of _Ancient Aliens_, and Petrel shifting so the both of them could stretch out along the couch. He was a remarkably good pillow.

**And thus the shipping actually started, as one-sided as it sort of is, right now. Rock on, chapter fifteen. Rock on.**


	16. Drunken Accidents

Disclaimer: Here be more shippings. Ye hath been warned... again.

"This... is not good." Proton glanced up when he heard Petrel say that, frowning. They had been heading the Johto branch of Team Rocket for two days, and so far, everything had gone rather smoothly. There hadn't been any lab accidents, any riots, or any fights out of the ordinary (not to say there weren't any at all, just the usual number, and that was, overall, a good thing), and though the two friends had been completely swamped with work, they had still been able to find time here and there to relax and chat. Overall, Proton felt as if they'd had a very successful reign, thus far- of course, now Petrel was completely ruining it by saying that.

"Don't tell me we screwed somethin' up," Proton sighed. "I don't think I could handle it if we did." Petrel glanced up from his reports.

"Ah... no, not us, exactly," he said, "but, well... that whole Silph fiasco... it seems we've got some pretty low morale, after that. The base's entire output is down. If we let this continue..." Proton grimaced.

"I get it," he replied. "So what are we going to do about it, then?" Petrel's frowned deepened, and he stroked his goatee thoughtfully.

"You know, I'm not sure," the purple executive said. "I've never had to deal with this shit, before... I remember back in Kanto, Boss would organize something fun to get everyone back on their feet... Maybe we could give that a try, eh? We could do a mass movie night."

"Oh?" Proton snorted. "And where would you fit the entire Lugiadamn base, and what movie would you play that would get enough people into it? And even then, two hours to chill out? Not gonna help, man."

"Well, what do you suggest?" Proton paused and stared at the floor for a minute before snapping his fingers.

"Oh, I know! A rave!" Petrel's eyebrows rose in minor interest.

"A _rave_?" he repeated. "When is that _ever_ a good idea?" Proton rolled his eyes.

"Oh, _c'mon. _Don't tell me you've never been to a rave. In fact, I _know_ you've been to at least one, remember I took you to that dance club three months ago? We had a good time, there."

"We went to get laid- we didn't even _join_ the rave."

"We _got_ laid. It was _fun_."

"No, _you_ got laid, and only because I took pity on you and found you a hooker."

"Wait, she was a _hooker_?"

"I'm surprised you even remember half of that, anyways, you were so _wasted_." Proton frowned again.

"This is an upsettin' development, but either way, raves are fuckin' fun. We're havin' a rave." Petrel threw his hands up, acknowledging his defeat.

"Alright," he agreed, "we're having a rave. When, where, and how?" Proton reached across him for a map of the grounds and pulled it between them, grabbing a pen to scribble on it.

"Okay, so, there's not much space in the auditorium, but I figure we can have it right over here, by the lake..." He circled the large space next to the main building, and proceeded to draw little boxes into it. "We'll have a DJ here, food here, drinks here, and we set up some dim lighting and hand out glowsticks like they're candy." He sat back to allow Petrel to look over the plan. "As for the time, we start just as the sun's setting, and we party all night. And who knows? Maybe we'll get laid and not have to pay for it, this time- _both_ of us." Petrel took a moment to study the map before nodding in satisfaction.

"Let's do it," he said. "Hand me the PA." He pointed to the microphone on the far side of the desk, and Proton leaned over to grab it, passing it on as asked. Petrel thanked him, glanced over the plans one more time, and then smiled, pressing the 'broadcast' button. "Greetings, Rockets. This is Executive Petrel, coming to you live from Archer's office. It has come to the attention of Executive Proton and I that y'all are feeling a little down in the dumps, so we've decided to put together something fun for you..."

* * *

It had taken the rest of the day for Proton and Petrel to run around and make all of the arrangements, having to apologize profusely to the mess hall for having them cater on such short notice. Finding a DJ had been much easier, as the freelancers from the Entertainment Department had been all but lining up to request the position. From there all they had to do was secure lighting from the Engineering department, and steal some glowsticks in bulk from both Espionage and Security.

Soon enough, it was nearing dusk, and Rockets began to trickle out slowly onto the grounds, first one or two, then some larger groups of friends, some wearing their uniforms and some dressed casually. Proton and Petrel, of course, pretty much _had_ to attend in their uniforms, set and example and all that, which Proton actually was kind of upset about, as he recently had gotten a new outfit to go clubbing in and had wanted to break it in. On the other hand, his uniform was still snazzy as hell, so he supposed it wasn't _that_ big of a deal.

By seven o'clock, the grounds were swarming with Rockets, and Proton was rather proud of himself. Psh, mass movie night, what had Petrel been thinking? Silly, silly man. Of course, the swarm of Rockets meant a swarm of pretty girls to flirt with, and Proton was perfectly happy with that. His first manner of business had been to get himself a drink (some fruity, girly punch laced with some sort of scotch or vodka, he wasn't sure which), and then to throw himself into the crowd, stalking passed groups and keeping his eyes open for any of the fangirls he _knew_ he had. He had gotten to the other side and had taken a few steps back to decide his next path when, as luck would have it, two female grunts approached him, and from the way they were giggling, they were _definitely_ fangirls.

"Ladies," he greeted smoothly, sipping his punch, "ready to have a good time?" He gave them his most charming smile, and their giggling increased. _Score_.

"We were super excited when we heard," one said, "it's been way too long since the last Team-wide party night."

"How about you, Executive? Are you and Executive Petrel going to be able to partake the festivities?" the other asked. Proton chuckled and shrugged.

"Well, hey, we've put so much effort into this, it'd be a waste if he and I didn't party a little, ourselves," he answered. The two burst into another fit of giggles, and he felt his smile becoming strained. "What's so funny, girls?"

"So you like _partying_ with Petrel?" the first prompted. Proton frowned slightly; the fact that she had emphasized 'partying' like that struck him as slightly odd.

"Yeah," he replied slowly. "I mean, I know he doesn't seem like it, but he's a bit of a party animal..." Ah, and that infernal giggling. He was about to snap as them for it when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced to the side to see Petrel standing there, smiling pleasantly at the grunts.

"Janine, Alissa," he greeted. "Sorry, but could I borrow Proton for a minute? We need to start the event, now." Without waiting for them to answer, he steered Proton away from them and towards the DJ table. "Trust me, Pro, you'll thank me, later."

"What was _that_ all about?" Proton asked, peering curiously over his shoulder back at the two grunts.

"Those were the leaders of the resident yaoi fanclub," Petrel replied.

"...We have a yaoi fanclub?"

"Yyyyyup." Petrel glanced back at them, as well, rather wearily. "They love to post their fanfictions up on my cork boards. So far, I've seen them shipping me and Archer, you and Archer, Archer and Giovanni, and most recently, me and you."

"Ew." Proton's nose scrunched slightly and he took another sip of his punch. "I mean, seriously? _Either_ of us with Archer? Just... _no_, man. That's disgusting." Petrel laughed.

"Yeah, I gotta agree," he said. "Though, Janine writes all of those, and she does them rather well. In fact, there was one including you and Archer where he used a-!"

"I'm not listening! Lalalalalalala..." The two took a moment to laugh before Petrel motioned to the microphone.

"You wanna do the honors?" Proton shook his head.

"Nah, you're way better at PR than I am. This one's all you, P-trizzle." Petrel rolled his eyes good-naturedly, grabbing the microphone and tapping it several times to make sure it was on. Immediately, a hush fell over the decidedly large crowd, and all eyes turned towards him. Petrel smiled out at the sea of Rockets; Proton took another sip of his drink.

"Hey, folks!" Petrel greeted. "Welcome to the first annual Rocket Rave! First off, I would like to thank the mess for catering on such short notice, and MKII studios for so graciously providing the mix list and DJ. Now, I know we were expecting that stunt at Silph to go over _way_ better than it had, but, let's be serious, who was _honestly_ expecting some ten-year-old to come in an mop the floor with us?" When no hands were raised, he offered them a winning smile. "Exactly. We didn't even _think_ a kid would be the one trying to stop us, so we all _humored_ the brat. That's why, today, we're gonna have a good time and forget all about it!" There was some scattered applause. "So, without further ado, let's get this party started! Unless Proton has anything to say, of course." Suddenly, all eyes were on him. Proton glanced slowly around at the crowd, frowning when he saw the yaoi fangirls from earlier, though after a moment, he smiled, as well (albeit a little forced), and raised his drink in toast.

"Everybody have a good time!" he shouted. His words were met with cheers, and Petrel got the DJ up and running before putting the mic down and taking the spot next to Proton.

"We did good, Pro," he said as the electronica began blaring.

"That depends on whether or not we get laid, tonight," Proton replied loudly. "I'd stay out of that mess in the middle, if I were you- even a big guy like yourself can get hurt, in there." Petrel laughed.

"I'm going to get a drink," he called, "need a refill?" Proton peered down at his now mostly-ice drink and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, "I'll go with you."

"Nah, just wait here or start trying your luck, or something, I won't be long!" Petrel sort of forcibly removed the plastic cup from his grip, and before Proton could protest, he made his way dodging and weaving through the crowd and towards the drink table. Proton shook his head and leaned back against the side of the building, beginning his search for single, bangable girls. It didn't take long before he'd spotted a few potential candidates, and he quickly set to work evaluating them.

The first he had to rule out right away, as she was most definitely taller than him, even with his boots, and he simply could _not_ handle being the short one in a relationship- short meant less intimidating, and less intimidating meant less power. The second looked nice enough, but Proton was convinced she was a freelancer from the Entertainment department, and he probably wouldn't be able to get into her pants without paying quite a hefty sum. The third seemed to be his best bet- she was tall, though not taller than he was, with gently waving auburn hair, her uniform clinging to her frame just right, and briefly he considered approaching her, seducing her, taking her to some dark, shaded corner of the grounds and using her for some much-needed stress relief, though as he continued to watch her, he couldn't help but scowl. She was quite pretty, that was true, and he was certain that any day prior he would have gotten quite aroused by the plans he was carefully cultivating in his mind, but one single thought stood in the way- he was, in all honesty, quite sure that her lips were in no way as soft or warm as Petrel's had been.

It took Proton a moment to realize what he was thinking, though as soon as he did, he started, and looked around quickly as though expecting a psychic-type to be reading his mind. When he realized there was no one even relatively close to him, he scowled and crossed his arms, eye twitching slightly. It was a fluke- that was all. It didn't mean anything. All of a sudden, however, he was broken from his musings by something ice-cold pressed against his cheek, and he swore angrily, whirling around to face his antagonist. Petrel had to quickly move both of the drinks in his hands upwards to avoid Proton knocking them to the ground, and he frowned.

"You've got that broody look, again," he said. "What's up?"

"None of your Lugiadamn business!" Proton sneered. Petrel shrugged and held out one of the drinks, which Proton gladly took, tossing his head back and downing it. He was happy to report that this drink had more alcohol in it- definitely vodka- and the warmth spreading within him from it calmed him, slightly. "Ah, fuck, thanks, I needed that..." Petrel snickered.

"No problem, buddy of mine," he replied. He motioned to the crowd with his drink, his other hand sliding into his pocket to keep warm. "So I'm guessing you getting all pissy means no good prospective sex partners, tonight?"

"Not a one," Proton agreed. "This sucks, man. You see any?" Petrel frowned and peered at the crowd for a moment before replying.

"I honestly have no idea. I can't pick a single person out of that mass." He shook his head, and the two remained silent for quite a while, simply watching their underlings bust some moves, get wasted, and interact. Proton was rather amused when he spotted a guy trying to seduce that hooker he'd seen earlier, and even moreso when she seemed to realize he didn't have any money and left his ass to go dance somewhere else. "Hey. Pro."

"Mm?"

"Wanna dance?" If he'd still had his drink, Proton was quite sure he would have sprayed it everywhere when Petrel asked that. As it was, his head snapped quickly to gaze at the purple executive, then down to his extended hand.

"Dance?" he repeated. "As in, _with_ you?" Petrel shrugged and peered down into his drink.

"I mean, if you don't, it's cool, I just thought..." Proton glanced out at the mosh pit, then back to Petrel. Well, it couldn't _hurt_... right...? They were friends, after all. It was cool. Briefly, his mind returned to the yaoi fangirls, and his face heated slightly at the prospect of what they would be writing if they saw the two of them dancing.

"I know what you're trying to do," he said at last, "don't think I don't, bastard. I know enough psychology to understand the Mere Exposure Effect." Petrel laughed awkwardly.

"Alright, I get it, you don't have to rub it in."

"Good. Now, let's dance." He grabbed Petrel's hand before he could lower it and tugged; Petrel stumbled forward, and before he even formed a protest, Proton chucked their drinks into a nearby trash can and dragged him out into the party. A line dance was playing, and even though Petrel just sort of stood there awkwardly, Proton quickly jumped in near a couple grunts and picked the movements up, easily. When he noticed several moments later that Petrel was _still_ just sort of standing there, he frowned. "Hey! You said you wanted to dance- don't tell me you were lying, asshole. Get over here and learn the fuckin' moves."

"Ah, r-right!" Petrel stammered, falling in next to him. "How does this go...?"

"It's easy, P, c'mon... Just step, step, step, clap, turn, wait... And now it starts over... and we add another move to it..."

Petrel picked up on it easily enough, and by the time the song had ended and the next had started, all awkwardness between the two had been forgotten, and they simply laughed and fucked around as they pulled off more and more impressive dance moves. Eventually, it became a sort of contest, with Petrel putting his best street dances to the test, and Proton displaying his proficiency in break-dancing. A circle began to clear around them with grunts and admins cheering them on, and even though he slipped up a few times, Proton couldn't help but laugh. This was probably the most fun he'd had in a long while.

Soon enough, their movements began to synchronize, and they began using each other to pull off even more complicated moves. The crowd around them began to clap in time with the beat, and more and more Proton found Petrel and himself meeting in the middle for joint moves until, finally, they stopped parting altogether, and found themselves in a sort of contemporary swing dance. It was... nice. The noise of the crowd washed out somewhere before really making its way to his mind, but that was alright- it allowed him to capture every last detail, every last movement, every last expression. He stopped caring what was going on around them; all he payed attention to was the fact that, for once, Petrel just seemed so indescribably happy and full of energy.

All too soon, however, the song was over, leaving their dance finished at a dip and the two of them panting with exertion. The crowd dissipated as the DJ announced they would be having a brief intermission so he could eat, and Petrel wasted no time in pulling Proton back to his feet, though as he straightened there was a cracking sound, and he swore loudly, his face contorting in pain. Proton swore, as well, as whatever had happened forced Petrel to let go of him, and he felt himself falling backwards. There was another swear from Petrel, and the next thing Proton knew, the two of them were tangled in a heap on the grass; the greenette found himself laughing, again, and he poked at Petrel's head.

"Hey," he said, voice laced with mirth, "hey, you alright, Petrel?"

"_Fuck_... _no..._" Petrel groaned in reply. "_Ugh_, my fuckin' _back_... Yeah, okay, I'm never doing _that_, again."

"You're the one who wanted to dance," Proton pointed out, scooting out from under him and pushing himself to his feet. He took a moment to dust his pants off before offering his hand to his friend, who cast him a thankful look and took it, hoisting himself back to his feet.

"I probably should have thought it through better," he agreed. "Fuck, man, forget stabbed, it feels like it's on _fire_..."

"Maybe you should chill out for a bit," Proton said, frowning, now. He pulled Petrel back towards where they had been standing earlier, forcing him to sit against the wall of the base. "Maybe some booze, too."

"Make it something stronger than the punch, huh?" Petrel grunted. "That was a pansy drink to begin with..."

"Sure. I'll be right back." Proton spun on his heel and began the trek to the other side of the designated dance floor, slipping and spinning around and in between groups, as there was no real straight line to the drink table. Several fangirls tried to accost him as he proceeded, but for the most part, he blew them off, much to their disappointment (he also pretty much ran when he saw the yaoi fangirls coming for him, but, y'know, such was life). There were only a couple people manning the drink table, but despite that those few were highly efficient- not that it mattered how fast the line was moving, of course, because everyone was more than willing to get the fuck out of Proton's way, especially, it seemed, when he voiced his frustration at such a long fuckin' line. It was good to be an Executive.

"What can I get for you, Sir?" one of the grunts asked as he cut straight to the front.

"Good question," he replied, peering across the table to see what, exactly, they even had. "Uhh... no, not punch... not beer, either... Hm..." He perked up when a specific bottle caught his eye, and he grinned madly. "Ooh, ooh! Raspberry vodka! _Fuck yeah_! Okay, yeah, give me two of those, straight up, no ice." With much bowing and 'of course, Executive's, Proton made it back to Petrel three minutes later, drinks in hand. The purple-haired executive was peering broodily at the mass of people, and idly, Proton wished he _had_ asked for ice, just to get revenge for earlier. Since he hadn't, of course, he had to settle for plopping down on the ground next to his friend and handing him his drink like a normal person. Petrel peered down at it and took a sniff.

"...I smell raspberry," he said after a moment. "Is that raspberry? It smells like raspberry." Proton laughed.

"_Yes_, it's raspberry," he replied, "raspberry _vodka_, in fact. I know, I'm the bestest friend ever, you don't have to say it." Petrel grinned.

"Amen to that," he agreed. He raised his plastic cup, and Proton mimicked him. "We did good, Pro. We did good."

"We didn't do good." He pressed their cups together. "We did fuckin' _amazin'_. Petrel's grin broadened.

"Cheers."

* * *

The last time his head had hurt this much, it had been because Archer kicked him really hard in the skull while they were in Kanto. Now, Proton wasn't quite sure, but the amount of alcohol he'd ended up drinking the night before and the obnoxiously bright sunlight filtering in through the window definitely had something to do with it. With a slight groan, his eyes cracked open to meet the morning light, and he hissed and closed them again, immediately. Yeah, _way_ too bright. On top of that, he was sore _everywhere_, especially his waist and abdomen. Fuck, he must have pulled off some pretty amazing moves if everything from the waist down hurt _that_ fuckin' much.

Aw, who even cared? His head hurt, he was tired and lazy, and he was remarkably warm. He was going back to sleep. He sighed and snuggled down, pressing instinctively into the wall of warmth behind him. He had to pause and wonder, of course, why it _was_ so warm behind him, because his bed was _never_ that warm, and it was about then he noticed the arm draped around his torso, and also that he kind of wasn't wearing anything, like, at all. Putting two and two together, he couldn't help but smirk- yeah, he _totally_ got laid, last night. Too bad he couldn't remember any of it.

He had just been drifting off when he realized something- he was facing the way he always did, yes, and he was sleeping the right way, yes, but the sun was _directly_ in his face. The sun was _never_ directly in his face in the morning. He purposefully set up his bed to _avoid_ having the sun in his face in the morning, because he _had_ to sleep on his left side. There wasn't any debate about it- he _had_ to. And now, he was on his left side, close up to the headboard, and the _sun was in his face_. As in, _he wasn't in his __own room_. Of course, this wouldn't have been the first time he'd woken in some grunt's apartment, but the problem was, _he wasn't_. It still _smelled_ like their apartment, though with a slightly heavier stench of smoke... Wait... _smoke_...? His eyes shot open wide, and slowly, Proton tilted his head down to stare at the rather masculine arm he knew quite well, following its path to a slightly scarred shoulder, curving up an exposed neck to a strong jaw and tell-tale goatee.

He simply lay there for a moment, trying to process what, exactly, that meant before his eyes, if possible, widened further and he yelped, flailing and scrabbling as far to the edge of Petrel's bed as he could without falling off, turning to face said friend. His cry woke Petrel with a jolt, and the man swore and bolted upright, swearing again when his back cracked painfully, just as the night before, and also at the sunlight, as he threw his hand up over his face to block it out.

"Fuck!" he growled. "Who th' hell forgot to close the curtains...?!"

"Dude!" Proton said loudly. "I think we have a bigger issue here than the fuckin' curtains!" Petrel shook his head, brow furrowing in confusion.

"What?" he replied. "_Uhnnn_... Pro, what are you even talking about...?"

"Here, I'll let you guess!" Proton snapped. "Hint one: hangovers- we were probably drunk as fuck, last night! Hint two: we're in_ your_ bed, naked! Hint three: my ass _fuckin' hurts!_" He scowled when Petrel cracked one eye open to stare blankly at him. "Oh, for the love of Lugia, do you _seriously_ need me to say anything else? I fuckin' spelled it out for you, you idiot!"

"Not so loud," Petrel complained. "Jeez... it's too early for loud... Anyways, sorry, what were those...? I couldn't focus..." Proton let out a growl of his own and held his head in his hands. Petrel's eyebrows rose and he decided, instead, to investigate for himself, taking in the sight of their clothes scattered throughout the room (and as the door to his room was ajar, possibly out in the den, too), as well as the indentions of where the two of them had initially been laying, before he frowned and lifted the covers to peer underneath. After a moment, he let the sheets drop back onto the bed and he cast his gaze awkwardly towards the wall. "...Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_," Proton sneered. "Just... just... what the fuck, man?!" Petrel sighed and face-palmed.

"Look, I'm sorry," he whined, "I didn't mean for this to happen, Pro, I swear, it was an accident!"

"An _accident_?" the young executive repeated incredulously. "Oh, is that all this was, a _fuckin' ACCIDENT_?!" Petrel winced and grasped at his ears as if that would protect them.

"I said _not so loud_," he exclaimed. "Shit, man, just go ahead and blow my eardrums, it's cool!"

"Yeah, just one more thing that gets _blew _by _accident_!" Proton stood, gritting his teeth, and began collecting and equipping his clothing. "Fuck this, man! I'm _out_!"

"Pro, _c'mon_..." He ignored him, getting on his hands and knees to get one of his socks out from under the bed (how it had gotten there, he would never know), and once his sock and his pants were securely on his body, he made his way out into the den, picking up the rest of his uniform and donning those, as well. From there, he marched into his bedroom and grabbed his old knapsack, raiding his closet for an extra uniform, and then heading into the bathroom to grab his super special awesome shampoo/conditioner combo (he didn't think he could live without it, anymore) before slipping his boots on, grabbing his keys from the couch, and heading for the door.

"Don't do this, Pro!" Petrel all but begged, following him towards the door (it seemed he'd taken the time to at least put some pants on, much to Proton's relief). "C'mon, I said it was an accident! Hell, I'm sorry, man, I never meant for this to get that far! _Lance_!" Proton stopped in his tracks and spun around, keeping the door propped open with his boot.

"Was Alex an accident, too?" he asked, voice dripping with malice. Petrel just stared, surprised and unspeaking, and that honestly pissed Proton off even more. "Well?! _Was he_?! You get a kick out of getting guys too drunk to say 'no' and then tellin' them it was a _fuckin' accident_?!"

"Don't you _dare_ bring him into this!" Petrel finally replied, scowling. "It was nothing like that and you know it, bastard!"

"Oh, oh, _good_!" the green executive said, almost hysterically. "Great, good to know I'm the only fuckin' one! Yeah, no, just fuckin' _swell_! I'll see you in _hell_, motherfucker!" He had just enough time to register Petrel's look of mixed outrage and confusion before he stepped fully into the hallway, slamming the door hard behind him and setting off at a brisk pace towards the elevator. The only thing he could think of as he walked was how much of a _fuckin' asshole_ Petrel was, and how, despite her more than likely substandard kissing and dancing capabilities, he probably would have been better off having that one-night stand with the grunt when he had the chance. There's no doubt that, if he had, he wouldn't be feeling as these weird emotions surging through him- confusion, anger, longing, _need_... Normally, if he had too many emotions to make sense of, he would talk to Petrel. He couldn't quite do that, this time. Not after _that_ fight.

Not too much later, he found himself outside of the apartment of the one man he was certain would be too much of a pussy to turn him down a place to sleep for the next few days, and after only a brief hesitation, he knocked sharply and waited. A few seconds later brought the sound of footsteps, the pause as the person peered out at him through the peephole, and the opening of the door to reveal one rather unsurprised Leo Decarli, appearing only mildly interested in Proton showing up at his door.

"I had a feeling I'd be seeing you, today," he said, stepping back. "C'mon in, make yourself at home. I cleaned off the couch for you, already. You like breakfast ham?" Proton blinked and walked in, only to be stopped by Decarli grabbing his arm. "Ah- sorry, boots off by the door, please."

"Uh- yeah, sure." After doing as instructed, Proton wandered over to the cushy-looking couch and placed his bag down on the floor. "You said you were expectin' me, Decarli?"

"Yeah," the admin replied, heading back into the kitchen to tend to said breakfast ham. "I mean, I assumed, at least, with the way you and Executive Petrel were, ah... _socializing_." Proton snorted and shook his head slightly in reply.

"I guess it was too much to hope we'd been discreet. What happened, anyways? I remember Petrel hurt himself dancing, so I made him sit and got some drinks, and then we stargazed a little bit... But after that, everything gets too fuzzy."

"Well, I dunno about stargazing, but when I went to throw my plate away, I saw you guys having a steamy makeout session against the base," Decarli said bluntly. "Honestly, the only thing that really surprised me was how aggressive Petrel seemed to be behaving, I've always found him rather reserved..."

"So he started it?" the executive prompted. Decarli paused to think for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

"No," he answered, "no, I'm pretty sure _you_ started it. Not one hundred percent sure, though, you'll have to ask him when you go back." Proton laughed outright at that.

"Oh, no," he said, "no, no way in _hell_ I'm going back."

"Well, you can't stay here for more than a few days, we only have the one room and bathroom, and the missus is expecting. Ah, speak of the devil- morning, Sheryl. Look, we have company."

"I saw," the ginger said, smiling. "Good morning, Executive." Proton glanced her over briefly- not his type, he decided almost immediately, so there was no fun to be had, there. He mumbled his reply, and she laughed. "You said he was going to be staying a few days, Leo, dear?"

"At most. Boyfriend trouble. You know how it is, Sher."

"Oh, do I ever. _You_ were a handful, back in the day. Is that breakfast ham?"

"He's _not_ my boyfriend," Proton muttered. They ignored him, not like he could blame them. He ignored himself, too, sometimes- especially when all his mind wanted to do was pry through the fuzziness to the events of the previous night, desperately trying to remember not how things had led to that morning, but just how good of a kisser Petrel had been. Yeah. He was ignoring himself, now.

* * *

It had been days since Proton had woken to find himself rather intimately positioned in bed with Petrel, and the two hadn't talked a single bit. Of course, they saw each other in the hallways- Proton was living out of his office, and had taken to using the showers in the chem labs and in the training rooms for bathing, and once or twice they'd passed each other as he went to do so. They'd barely acknowledged the other, only glaring and meeting gazes briefly before ignoring each other entirely. Each time that happened, of course, Proton couldn't help but imagine shoving his friend up against the wall and attempting to repeat the events of that night. Even when he wasn't passing Petrel, the longing- the _need_- persisted, and he found himself thinking of the purple-haired executive during the most random of times, even once when he'd been showering.

The constant feelings- no, the constant _obsession-_ began to simply drive him mad, and he became rough, and quicker to anger than usual. The past two days, in fact, he'd tried to alleviate the feelings by heading out into town and picking up where he'd had to leave off in his string of serial rape-murders, attempting to sate the desire with those pretty, green-haired girls. When the first hadn't fixed anything, he immediately moved on to find a second, and when _she_ hadn't worked, he continued, on and on, until finally he stopped caring what they looked like, and grabbed any girl out walking alone that he could find, spending less and less time taking them and more and more brutally rending their flesh until he couldn't stand it, any more, and he had to return to the base and lock himself in his office.

He'd been in there for nearly twelve hours, now, and truth be told, he was getting kind of hungry. Briefly, he thought of how Petrel would simply roll his eyes at his complaints and suggest they take some time off and go to a sports grill or buffet or something downtown, but he quickly cut that thought off, growling at air as he stood and let himself out. He had been rounding the corner on the way to the vending machines when he heard that ever-so-familiar voice, and his heart began pounding (just another thing to piss him off). He considered turning around and finding another vending machine, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold up, and with a suffering sigh, he completed taking the corner and headed straight for the vending machines, keeping his eyes peering anywhere besides Petrel; hopefully, as the man was conversing with a grunt, he wouldn't be spotted, and Proton quickly began to slip coins into the machine with trembling hands.

As luck would have it, he was rather uncoordinated with the final coin, and it slipped out of his grip, rolling to hide under the machine, itself. He swore under his breath and rolled his eyes, laying flat so he could try and find the coin amidst the dust bunnies. Damn, they needed to clean under the machines. With another sigh, he slid his arm into the space between the machine and the floor, painfully aware of a pair of eyes on his back as he began his search. One pair of footsteps, heavy and clunk, wandered away- not Petrel. Petrel's footsteps were light and quiet, graceful like a persian- he was still there. He was watching him. Proton gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it, but the silence was starting to become too much for him.

"...Say something...," he murmured. Petrel didn't reply. Proton took several deep breaths to try and keep himself calm, and he withdrew his arm from under the machine and pushed himself to his feet, still refusing to turn and meet his gaze. "I said _say something_." Again, silence, and his hands clenched into fists as he sneered and whirled around, striding easily towards the taller executive. Quickly, he grabbed him by the front of his uniform with a vice-like grip, and shoved him back against the wall; Petrel's eyes widened significantly. "_Say something, you fucking BASTARD!_ Tell me _why_!"

"I told you, already," Petrel said quietly, "we were _drunk_, it was an _acc_-"

"_Not. That_," Proton snarled. "Tell me why I'm fuckin' _feelin'_ like this!" Petrel stared at him through narrowed, confused eyes, before his expression morphed into one of exhaustion.

"How the hell am _I_ supposed to know?" he replied. "Like I have _any_ idea what the hell goes through that screwy head of yours."

"No. _Unacceptable_." He glared up into Petrel's eyes, sharp green piercing through void black, and his grip tightened. "It has to have been you! It _has_ to have been something _you_ did! _Tell me!_ Tell me why I can't stop fuckin' thinkin' about you, you _asshole_!"

"I'm just going to go out on a limb here and guess it's _not_ lust," Petrel said after a moment. "You handle lust _way_ better than this, Proton. I know what you've been up to. I watch the news."

"It has to be," Proton muttered, now more to himself, "no, it _has_ to be lust- lust, bloodlust, that's what _fuels_ me, it _has_ to be lust... But why didn't it go away? I did what I always did, but it didn't go away, it's still there and it _won't get out of my fucking head, why is it still there?!_" With a savage growl, he let go of Petrel's uniform and turned around, grasping the sides of his head. "This has to be your Lugia-damn fault!"

"Will you just stop fucking blaming everything on me?" Petrel snapped. "Let's get something straight, here, psycho- _you_ kissed _me_ that night! Alright?! _You_ were the one who _got up_ _and led me to the __apartment_! _You_ were the one who had to convince _me_ to have sex! And you know what?!" He smirked and spread his arms to the side. "You fuckin' _liked it_, man! So, _forgive me_ if I thought something would actually _work out_!"

"What the hell sort of excuse is that?!" Proton sneered. "Idiot, I was _wasted_! None of that means jack shit!" Before he realized what hit him, he found himself slammed hard into the wall, hurting his back, and he hissed and sneered at Petrel, who was pinning him there, a glare of his own on his face.

"_Prove it_," came the dangerous growl. "One word, Lance. That's all it takes. One _fucking_ word, and we're _done- _with _everything_. Go on. Say it. _I dare you_." His face was millimeters away from Proton's own, and the green-haired executive wondered if his friend could feel the way his heart was hammering away in his chest. After a long moment of silence, Petrel's angry glare turned into one akin to hurt and betrayal, and it seemed he was ready to turn and leave. Proton wouldn't let him. He didn't even think about what he was doing; his body reacted on its own, and just as Petrel was about to pull away, he grabbed him by the uniform again and gave a mighty tug, crashing their lips together for an intense, heated kiss. Almost immediately, he felt Petrel's arms snake around him, pulling their bodies close together. Soon, they had to break for air, and when they did they simply stood there, staring at each other, before simply melting into their embrace. Proton rested his head against the crook of Petrel's neck; Petrel rested his head on top of Proton's.

"I'm sorry," Proton murmured. "Those... those things I said... I didn't mean any of them. Not the ones about Alex."

"I know," Petrel replied soothingly. "I know. Don't worry about it. But... y'know..." His hold on Proton tightened, and he buried his face in the shorter executive's hat. "Accidents don't always have to be bad things... right...?" Proton didn't reply; he simply inhaled deeply, relishing in the bitter scent of smoke clinging to his friend's uniform.

"I'd like to come back to the apartment, now," he said.

"I'll clean off your side of the bed," the purple-haired executive agreed. They parted, and once Proton had retrieved his coins from the vending machine, they turned and walked side-by-side back towards the elevator. Proton frowned slightly as they walked, and his eyes slipped down to Petrel's hand. He bit his lip and glanced between the floor and the hand awkwardly for a moment before, slowly, he slid his own into Petrel's as nonchalantly as he could. Petrel cast him a glance.

"What?" Proton asked stiffly. After a moment, Petrel smiled and turned his gaze back to the corridor in front of them.

"It's nothing."

* * *

**It's a little early, but happy Valentine's Day. Finally- _finally_- I got the shipping element implemented. Whooooo, Olympicshipping! ...Why aren't you clapping? Clap, dammit! x3**


	17. Transitional Abandonment

Disclaimer: Do not tap on glass; you will scare the shippers.

"Petrel- Petrel, where's my hat?"

"Is that really a priority, right now, Pro? Help me finish cleaning the Mewdamn desk!"

"_No one_ can see me without my hat, Petrel, _not_ when my hair looks like this."

"Aw, c'mon, I think it's cute. What should we do about his chair?"

"Hide it and tell him we spilled coffee on it. Where the _fuck_ is my hat...?" Proton scowled and crouched, searching around under Archer's desk before giving a huff of frustration and going to scour the corners. Petrel was busy wiping down Archer's desk, as both the blue-haired executive and his twin were returning from the Sevii Islands- early, as well. The project they'd been working on shouldn't have been finished for at least a few weeks, however, it seemed as though there had been complications, and they had called the two of them earlier (right in the middle of some rather entertaining _quality time_, as well) to announce their abrupt return. Of course, this resulted in a mad dash for Proton and Petrel to get Archer's office back into order.

"Here." Petrel leaned far over the desk and then tossed something over his shoulder; Proton caught it, brushed it off, and jammed it down over his head.

"Thanks," he said. "Hey, your sleeve is over your glove. You put 'em on in the wrong order." Petrel frowned and glanced down at his left arm before huffing and tucking his sleeve back into his glove.

"You'd think they could have given us more time," he muttered. He straightened Archer's name plaque, and Proton snickered.

"You _so_ got cock-blocked," he teased, "get owned."

"Go ahead, laugh it up," Petrel replied. He passed behind him and paused for a moment to whisper into his ear. "_Just wait and see what happens, tonight_."

"What, you gonna snore me to de-_ack_!" Proton jumped slightly and had to smack Petrel's hand away, mock-scowling before he shoved him. "None of that, now, man, they're gonna be back any minute." Petrel grinned broadly and winked at him, heading over to finally hide Archer's chair. There wasn't really much left to straighten up after that point, so the two of them had simply hung around and chattered idly as they waited for Archer and Ariana to pop up. It didn't take that long- roughly forty-five minutes, maybe. As soon as they heard the knob of the door turning, Petrel and Proton sprung to their feet and stood at attention, saluting as their rather tired-looking superiors entered.

"Executive Archer, Executive Ariana," Petrel greeted, smiling serenely. "Welcome back to Johto." Ariana offered a weary smile in return, and sat down in one of the seats near the door without another word. Petrel's smile quickly turned into a frown.

"At ease," Archer said quietly. "In fact, just forget it. No saluting, no attention- there's no point, anymore, Petrel." He passed between the two of them and merely glanced at his lack of chair before going to stare out the window.

"Did somethin' happen?" Proton asked boredly. "I mean, I know you're _usually_ a drag, but this seems worse than usual." Archer didn't reply. Proton and Petrel exchanged troubled glances.

"Arch...? Arch, what happened?" Petrel asked. Archer gripped the windowsill tightly, his knuckles turning almost as white as his uniform.

"He's abandoned us," he choked out. "He just... he just left, he didn't even tell us, _he just left_..."

"Do you remember the child who infiltrated our operations at Silph?" Ariana spoke up. Proton winced slightly.

"A little too well," he affirmed. Ariana snorted and crossed her arms.

"Yes, well... It seems he defeated our Boss for the final time," she continued.

"That's bad? How?" Petrel's frown deepened, and he leaned back against Archer's desk.

"Weren't you paying any attention?!" Despite his usual quietness, Archer's voice shook with barely controlled rage. "He _abandoned us_, dammit! He's _gone_, he's called for the disassembly of the Team!" The bluenette spun on his heel and stalked around his desk to join his comrades. "We've been used and tossed aside- he never cared for any of us!"

"Calm down," Ariana commanded, "you know that's not true. He always treated us like family."

"Oh, yes, how could I forget?!" Archer rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, obviously his _abandoning_ _us_ is the ultimate act of fatherly love!"

"Archer!" Ariana finally snapped. "Shut up! You're going to upset him!" Archer sneered and turned, huffing angrily as he returned to his window.

"Upset wh-?" Petrel grabbed Proton's arm, effectively cutting him off, and jerked his head downwards. When Proton followed his gaze, he was surprised to find one rather familiar, small red-haired boy clinging to Ariana and staring pointedly at the floor- he hadn't even realized Silver had come in with them. Oh, fuck_,_ he thought after taking a moment to think over the situation, he's just like us. No, he then corrected himself, he's just like _me_. Ten years old and his father had betrayed him. He knew what that was like. After a moment of hesitation, he crouched in front of Silver.

"Hey, there, kiddo," he murmured. "How you holdin' up, huh? It's hard, isn't it?"

"What would you know...?" Silver asked bitterly. Proton offered him a small smile.

"My dad left me when I was about your age," he explained. "Until I came to work for _your_ dad, I was livin' in a junkyard, and I never really was able to eat or shower much. It really sucked- it hurts, too. Right?" After a moment, Silver nodded, and Proton snickered, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Well, don't you worry about a thing, buddy. We'll make sure to take care of you. You won't ever have to worry about any of that, okay?"

"I thought you hated kids," Petrel said boredly. Proton shot him a glare.

"This is different," he replied, "Silver and I are bros. Isn't that right, kid?"

"Yes, well, this is all fine and dandy, but we don't exactly have an organization, anymore," Archer piped up.

"We can't _not_ have the organization." Petrel turned his attention to Archer, his expression immensely troubled. "I mean, what would we even _do_? I guess it might be easier for your guys, but this is literally _all_ I've ever known... How would we go about disassembling the team?"

"Quite easily- we tell everyone to get over it and then we call the cops to let them raid the building." Archer shrugged. "With any luck, they'll get enough people to be satisfied enough to give up the hunt, and we'll get off scot-free."

"So you're just going to do what Boss did?" Proton frowned and stood, crossing his arms. "You give up easily, don't you?"

"We don't seem to have much of a choice, Proton," Ariana pointed out, "Master Giovanni _did_ tell us to. We've failed him- we have no right to do anything else."

"Well, yeah, if you're just gonna give up when some fuckin' brat gets _lucky_!" Archer opened his mouth to reply, but Proton pressed on and cut him off. "No, Archer, just take a Lugiadamn minute and fuckin' _listen_ to me, for once, alright?! Look, man- you're a fuckin' _good_ leader, as good as Boss. Ariana can manipulate the hell out of any Grunt or Admin on our Team, and Petrel is more than capable of keeping morale high and illness low. Everyone on the fuckin' team looks up to you guys- they'd follow you to the motherfuckin' ends of the Earth!"

"Ah, so you _have_ learned the chain of command since you've joined." Archer rolled his eyes. "I was starting to become worried. Where, pray tell, are you going with this?" Proton snorted, shaking his head.

"You _really_ don't see it?" he said. "Yes, we failed Boss, and yes, it was a pretty big screw-up, but it _ain't_ the end of the world, not yet. All we have to do is expand, get stronger, and pull off something impressive. We still have a shot."

"That would be against his orders-"

"You think he would have really wanted something his family has invested three generations in to disappear overnight just because of one little screw-up?" The room descended into silence, the three other executives considering Proton's suggestion. Proton glanced around at the three of them expectantly before throwing his hands into the air and turning around. "Fuck it, I should have known it would be a waste of time. I'm out." He spun around and made for the door. He supposed he could head out, find a small, out-of-the-way town to settle down in- there was no way he could run Team Rocket on his own. Even when he and Petrel were working together to head the team, they had barely been able to manage- it took all four of them to run the organization efficiently, and there was no point in continuing if none of them could be bothered to give him a hand.

"Pro- wait!" Petrel quickly grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him back. "I'm in, Pro- don't leave, alright? I'm in." Slowly, Proton smiled.

"I was worried for a second," he admitted. "I'm glad I was wrong." Petrel returned the smile, and the two shared a quick bro-hug.

"Count me in, as well," Ariana added, "if only so I can help look after Silver." The red-haired boy next to her pouted and said something about how he didn't need looking after, but no one payed that any mind. She stood and joined in on the hugging, first with Petrel then with Proton. Once their little hug-fest was complete, the three turned expectant eyes onto Archer, who was scowling heavily.

"You are disobeying Master Giovanni," he growled, "I could have _all three of you_ in the U for this!"

"Not if you disband us," Petrel pointed out.

"And especially not if you try to play goody-two-shoes and always do what Boss tells you," Proton added.

"You know what, boys?" Ariana continued, "I think he just wants a hug, too. Look at that pouty face."

"I don't want a hug!" Archer snapped. The others didn't reply; slowly they advanced on him, circling around to surround him, and he bared his teeth and snarled at them. "Stay back- dammit, I said I don't want a hug! Petrel- Petrel, get _out_ of my bubble! _I said I don't_-!" He was cut off as the three Executives all jumped him at the same time, catching him in a group-hug. He squirmed, swearing at them.

"C'mon, bro," Ariana said, "I know you want to do this, too."

"What I want doesn't matter!" Slowly, Archer stopped trying to shove them off. "We have to obey Giovanni's orders, alright?! We don't have a choice!"

"You're Boss's second," Petrel snickered, "dude, now that he's gone, _you're_ the one in charge. It's all on you whether we stay or not." Archer was silent; he merely removed himself from the group hug and straightened his jacket, brushing his shoulders off. Proton frowned as he strode away from them and towards his desk. Yeah, it was too much to think that Archer would ever go against Giovanni's orders.

"Ariana," he said, his voice finally returning to its usual quietness, "we need to know what our reserves are, and how much money we'll be making on a monthly basis if we can maintain our current efficiency levels. We'll need to know if we can afford to do this. Petrel- for now, the Pokemorph Project is on the backburner. I want your focus on your medical duties and on the Team's morale. We may need to have a bit of a pick-me-up for the Grunts, once word gets out. Proton..." Archer glanced over his shoulder to stare at him, directly. "We need to reinforce our numbers. We're going to need to bolster our security here and in Mahogany, and we'll be needing new recruits. Once you have some sort of plan for that, find me- I have a project I'll need you to collaborate with me on."

"So... we're doing this, then?" Ariana asked. Archer nodded.

"We're not out of the running, yet," he confirmed tiredly, "and we can't just hand the region over to Cipher on a silver platter, can we? We may be shattered, but we're strong. We can recover."

"You changed your tone quickly," Proton snorted. "I guess I shouldn't complain. I'll get started on that."

"No." Archer shook his head. "Not today. You and Petrel take the rest of the day off. Thank you for taking care of the base while we were gone."

"What about Silver?" Petrel cut in. "Where's he going to stay?"

"He can stay with us, I suppose," Ariana said, thoughtfully. Proton glanced over at Silver. The boy was staring at the wall, now, ignoring them and brooding. He didn't want Archer screwing that kid up.

"You guys don't have enough space," he disagreed, "he can come stay with Petrel and I. We've converted my room into a guest room." Archer blinked.

"Why would you do that?" he asked. Proton and Petrel exchanged glances; Proton frowned slightly, unsure, but Petrel nodded agreeably and stepped closer to him, wrapping his arm around his waist.

"While you guys were gone, shit went down, we didn't talk to each other for, like, a week, and now we're..." The purple executive paused, trying to find the right wording. "Well... we're sleeping together." Archer rolled his eyes.

"_Finally_!" he exclaimed. "Took you two long enough. Geez, for _months_ now it's just been you _whining_ about it..."

"I don't think letting Silver live with two horny young men is going to be the best idea in the world," Ariana pointed out dryly. "If he stays with you, you need to keep it PG."

"Yes, _mom_," Proton snorted, "no corrupting minors, we get it. So we're all good, then? This is the plan?" Archer nodded.

"For now," he agreed. "We'll need to be cautious, however. We can't afford to fail, this time." He paused there to stare each of them in the eye. "I am counting on all of you. This shall be, quite possibly, the most glorious undertaking we have embarked upon. I expect nothing more than our best foot forward- from all of us. Proton, Petrel, you two are free to go; make sure to get Silver settled in."

"Aye-aye, oh captain, my captain." Proton removed himself from Petrel's grip and went back over to Silver. "C'mon, kid, let's go. You'll have to excuse the mess when we get there, I've been meaning to clean up all week..."

"See you tomorrow, Archer. Ariana." Petrel smiled at the two of them in turn and followed Proton and Silver towards the door.

"Ah- wait a second." The two turned around to see Archer giving them that thin smile of his that promised hell to pay. "If I ever actually catch the two of you fucking in _my_ office, prepare yourselves for a world of pain. I also expect you to replace my chair, and get rid of the one you hid." Petrel and Proton exchanged glances.

"It was a coffee stain," Proton said slowly. Archer let out a soft laugh.

"Don't think I'm that stupid, Proton. _No one_ would hide an _entire chair_ just because of a _coffee stain_."

"Told you we should've put a towel on it, first," Petrel muttered. Proton elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"No one asked you," he hissed in reply.

After promising to replace Archer's chair, the three of them returned to the apartment, with Petrel going to help Silver settle in and Proton cursing himself for volunteering to house the child in the first place. At least, he mused as he slouched back on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, he'd been able to convince the others to continue running the Team. Honestly, he wasn't sure he would even be capable of reintegrating into normal society- where would he even go? What sort of job would he even _apply_ for? He highly doubted 'experienced mass murderer' would go over well in an interview, and he didn't even have a GED or something comparable that would allow him to actually land something with a decent wage. No, his best bet, for now, was to remain in Team Rocket, though with their paymaster gone, he was beginning to suspect they would be a little strapped for cash in the near future. They'd probably have to cut back on meat in their diets, or something, and clubs would most likely be out of the question. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the remote and turned on the History Channel.

At least for now, he thought, things couldn't possibly go wrong.

**Meeehhhhhh boring transition chapter. And sooooo muuucchhh tallkkkiiinnnngggg. Nothing to see here, folks.**


	18. Archer's Confrontation

Disclaimer: I just ran out of money for the vending machines. Nnnnnnnuuuhhhhhhh. D:

Bolstering their security had been an easy task, Proton mused as he sat in his office, pouring over paperwork. It had simply been a matter of increasing the number of guards on duty at any given time and adding a few more patrol routes, though he supposed he _should_ think about adding more cameras, as well. Overall, however, it had been a quick job to accomplish, and he was quite proud of himself.

Not long after he had submitted his written report to Archer, the man had come down and began discussing that project he'd mentioned needing Proton's help with. Apparently, the man had been spending years upon years of his time within Team Rocket doing some of his own research on the side, the bulk of which had to do with radio signals and how different wavelengths and frequencies could affect both human and pokemon alike. He'd been convinced that it would be possible to create a signal that would allow them to force evolutions on pokemon, or make them rampage- or, possibly, both. That was what Proton was working on, now; he was reading through all of Archer's notes, trying to get a bearings as to what they would actually be doing.

He glanced up from the papers as there was a knock on his door, and he loudly he announced that, yes, it was _still_ unlocked, and not a moment later the blue-haired executive himself strolled in and plopped another stack of paper onto Proton's desk. Proton grimaced and scowled up at him in reply.

"Please tell me this is _all_ of it," he sighed. Archer smirked and sat down in the lone chair in front of Proton's desk, propping his ankle on the other knee.

"What would you do if I said 'no'?" he replied evenly. As Proton scowled further, he chuckled and leaned back, crossing his arms. "That should be enough to keep you occupied for a little while, at least. You'll be out of the way, this way."

"Fuck you," Proton deadpanned. He turned back to the papers and shuffled through them, muttering under his breath. "Somehow, I think you're just doin' this to pick on me, asshole."

"Think what you will, but keep working," Archer ordered. Proton rolled his eyes and glanced up once more, momentarily, only to find Archer now ignoring him in favor of a manila folder. So much for having someone to talk to. With a sigh, he went back to scanning through the notes, jotting down some of his own on a pad of paper to the side, and he found himself wishing he'd set up in Petrel's larger, more comfortable office to work- at least in there, he would have had the purple executive to keep him company. Archer's silence was like a wall- it destroyed any attempts at conversation, and Proton knew by now not to waste his time trying. If Archer wanted to talk, he would talk, but not for idle chatter. _Lugia_, he should have set up in Petrel's office.

"It's fuckin' weird, you just hanging around like this," the green executive murmured as he continued to scribble, "I didn't think you liked me _that_ much. The only times I can ever remember you coming to my office were times you had some major problems with me..." His words hit that silent wall- not like he was surprised, but even a pathetic attempt was better than nothing at all. He continued working in silence for a few more minutes before trying again. "You know, when you told me you wanted to stay while I worked on this, I thought it was 'cause you had some more beef with me, or somethin', haha..." There was a pause in which everything seemed to come to a stand-still, even the monotonous, even-paced flip of the pages in the folder Archer was holding, and slowly, Proton looked up. "...You didn't want to stay while I worked 'cause you had more beef with me, did you?"

Archer's lips pursed into a thin line, and he didn't reply right away. Rather, he first finished flipping through the file, almost as if it were a magazine, before he closed it, set it under his chair, and stared. He just sat there and stared- for a few minutes, at _least_. Proton quickly began to feel awkward, and he tried to shrug it off and keep working, but after a moment longer, the quiet was interrupted.

"You're an enigma, Lance Di Mercurio," he said quietly. "Quite an enigma, indeed." Proton merely blinked before, slowly, he frowned.

"I... huh?" he asked, quite eloquently. "The fu-?! How the hell did you know my last name, prick?!"

"You're Lance Di Mercurio, age nineteen, one hundred seventy centimeters, fifty-eight point ninety-seven kilograms. You were born in the Viridian Memorial Hospital to Ettore and Ada Di Mercurio, though why they chose 'Lance' as your given name is beyond me. Your place of residence was 481 Aspen Place, Viridian City, Kanto, however, you moved to apartment 5022 at the Spring Breeze complex on Lowell Avenue, Goldenrod City, Johto when you were about eight." Archer smiled while Proton stared on, eyes wide, and after a moment, laughed. "Surprised, yes? It's all in your member file- not the public ones, of course. Giovanni's files- I've had a back door password for years, though I was only supposed to use it in emergencies. I'd say his abandoning our Team constitutes an emergency, wouldn't you?"

"The hell gives you the right to fuckin' look through my files, asshole?!" Proton snapped. "What, you don't fuckin' trust me?!"

"No," Archer replied, "no I don't, in fact. You're hiding something- you're hiding something important, Mr. Di Mercurio, and you're going to tell me what."

"Fuck you." Proton tried to ignore him, he really did- he lowered his head and began furiously scribbling notes as he passed through pages at a quick pace.

"It says here you moved because Ettore had a promotion at his job."

"Whoop-de-fuckin'-doo, you know how to read. I'm _so_ proud of you."

"The promotion in question never existed. I had company records pulled from Silph during our occupation there- your father worked the same position for nearly fifteen years before we imprisoned him." Proton's jaw clenched tightly, and as he went to make a few more notes, his pencil snapped in half. Archer was watching him closely, now, taking in his every movement, and his smile gave way to a cold frown. "Something else happened that caused your relocation. What was it?" Proton closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten, forcing himself to calm until, finally, he felt himself mellow out and his expression slacken.

"...How old were you...," he said softly, "...when you first killed someone...?" Archer eyed him wearily.

"Fourteen," he answered readily. "The day I was inducted into the organization." Proton grinned slightly and laughed a little before slowly raising his head to meet the bluenette's gaze.

"I was seven," he murmured. "Dad and Ma kept saying we were leaving 'cause Dad got a promotion, but I knew why we were leaving. They couldn't fool me. She was so small... so _fragile_..." He laughed and shook his head, toying with one of the pencil halves. "I'm not an only child, Archer. Did your fancy top-secret files tell you that?" Without waiting for the executive to reply, he continued. "They kept saying it was an accident, that she somehow rolled over in the middle of the night and suffocated on her pillow. I know that's not true. I remember. I know it's not true, at all."

"Stop beating around the bush Proton," Archer ordered. "Tell me what happened." Slowly, Proton's grin grew wider.

"You wanna know how many ways a baby can defend itself, Boss-man?" he replied. "None. It cries. It cries and hopes its mama comes to save it. But if Mama doesn't hear anythin'? Baby's shot, good as dead. They kept sayin' it was an accident, _but I remember_."

"Proton-"

"It was dark, it was late, and she was just layin' there, _sleepin_'. Dad and Ma were sleepin', too, right next door, so I had to be really, _really_ quiet, but I remember there weren't any toys or anythin' on the floor, my parents _never_ left toys out on the floor, and the carpet was so _plush_, you couldn't hear anyone if they moved carefully enough..."

"Executive, I thi-"

"Babies breathe so much more deeply than adults do... I know. I watched. It was... weird. Strange to think that we stop breathing as much as we got older, and I thought maybe... maybe she could breathe where others couldn't. So I took a pillow-"

"I've heard enough, Proton."

"-and I put it over her face. She woke up and tried to cry, but she could barely make a noise, and she tried to struggle, but she wasn't coordinated enough, yet, and I pressed more and more until I was sure she couldn't breathe, and then, just like that, she... she stopped. She stopped breathing. She didn't start again after I took the pillow away. She didn't move or cry..." Abruptly, he stood, and Archer flinched back, slightly, his hand zipping to rest on the gun Proton knew he kept in his back pocket. "It was _euphoric_. That's why we moved. They keep sayin' it was an accident, but I know better. Poor, poor little Eloisa... "

"You're messed up," Archer accused, "of _course_ Giovanni would want a rabid mightyena like you in Enforcement. You don't have any morals, do you?"

"I didn't mean for her to die," Proton disagreed, "really, I didn't. I was curious, is all. But the power you feel from being able to take someone's life so easily into your hands... You know what that feels like, don't you? It's a _rush_." They were quiet again, staring each other down, though when it became apparent Proton was _not_ going to go crazy and try to murder Archer, the blue executive released his grip on his gun and straightened himself to his usual perfect posture. As he was doing so, Proton's grin faded away, leaving a worried frown in its place. "...Don't tell Petrel." Archer raised an eyebrow and leaned down to grab the file from underneath the chair.

"Why not?" he asked. "Surely your little boyfriend would want to know _all_ about this?" Proton shook his head vigorously.

"He's... well... been talking about adopting for a little while, now," he admitted. "He keeps saying that if this whole relationship thing works out, between the two of us we might have time for a kid, and that Silver is a test run to see if we can handle it. He'd never trust me, if he knew. He'd never adopt. He wants a kid _ so badly_..." With a sigh, he shrugged. "Just... please, don't tell him, okay?"

"...Very well," Archer agreed, "this conversation never happened. Return to your duties, and don't worry about the project. We can take our time with that while we wait for Ariana to finish calculating the budget." With a quick exchange of salutes, Archer left Proton's office rather briskly, and Proton himself was content to return to his chair and lean back comfortably into it.

As he eventually returned to work, he couldn't help but wonder just what else Archer knew about him.

* * *

**.-. I know it was short, but I was just playing some racing games and their entire conversation just sort of popped into my head and I was all like "wellp, new chapter, hope they like it".**


	19. House Hunters

Disclaimer: You probably thought this disclaimer was alive. Nnnnnnope. It's dead.

Things really didn't change much in the base, despite the entire Johto branch now effectively functioning on its own reserves. Some Rockets from Kanto had teleported over not long after the disbandment of their own branch, and so the population was a little more dense, but overall, the biggest change was that Petrel was down in the medical department, every day, and rarely in his own office, and that Proton spent more time fortifying their defenses than punishing unruly Rockets in the U.

Even Silver didn't bring much of a change to their daily rituals- he mostly stayed out of the way, holing up in his room with some of Petrel's books (dictionary included), day by day becoming more akin to a walking encyclopedia- and he even seemed to understand a hell of a lot of what he read, as well, though he had a tendency to try and find ways to use any new vocabulary words in conversation as often as possible. After the first few times, Petrel began hiding his more _private_ novels on the top shelf where the kid couldn't reach.

Proton sighed as his musings ended, and he refocused on the TV, where a rerun of _Gilligan's Isle_ was playing. It was a Sunday, and Sunday meant no work- at least, not for Proton. Petrel generally tended to spend his days off working from his computer, and today had been no different. Silver had gone off to play with some kid from down the hall, and Proton had just been about to take advantage of the fact and seduce Petrel off the computer when said purple executive's pokegear had started ringing. Proton, to his dismay, was then treated to almost thirty minutes of muted TV shows while the man went on and on about things to his aunt that the young executive didn't really pay any attention to. Quietly, he growled to himself. This was _not_ how he'd imagined their day going.

"Mm-hm," Petrel was saying as he typed away at his keyboard, "yeah, no, I'll talk to him about it. ...Today? Uhh... one sec..." He lowered the pokegear from his ear and turned in his chair. "Pro, are we doing anything, the rest of the day?" Proton raised his eyebrows in mild interest.

"Not anymore," he said lightly, "I was _gonna_, but the call kinda ruined it..." Petrel rolled his eyes at him and returned to his phone call.

"No, we're not doing anything, today, so we could totally come take a look. Tell Tab we're coming, yeah? …. Oh, he still hasn't come back? I don't think he's ever been out, this long... ...Sure, we can help you look for him, a bit. I wouldn't be worried, though, not if he had Jaspar with him... Yeah, we'll be there in a little bit. ...Alright. …. Love you, too, Aunt Quinn. Mm-hm. Bye." As soon as he hung up, Proton unmuted the TV, sighing heavily.

"Fuck, I thought you'd _never_ stop talkin'," he muttered. "Lugia, I can't stress just how much a turn-off your ringtone is..." Petrel simply rolled his eyes once more and shook his head.

"I'll make it up to you, later," he promised, "but this is kind of important. See, my Aunt Quinn and Uncle Travis are selling their house in Lilycove-"

"How is that important to us?"

"-and they wanted to know if we were interested. It's a pretty nice spit of property, and she said they'd cut us a good deal. I figure between the both of us, we have enough saved up to afford it-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _hold up_," Proton cut him off. "Are you _seriously _talkin' about us getting a house, together?" Petrel hesitated before, slowly, he nodded, and Proton sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "Don't you think that's movin' a _little_ fast?"

"Maybe," Petrel admitted, "but... things aren't exactly like they used to be, y'know?" He cast his gaze down to his keyboard and absentmindedly pressed random keys. "I mean, I guess I always just sort of took for granted that we'd always have a home, here, but the other day, when Archer almost disbanded the team... it sort of made me realize, y'know, this place may not be as stable as we like to think it is. We need to prepare for the future, Pro. We don't exactly have the same manpower as we used to. All of this could go to shit, and then what? We live on the run? Worst case scenario, we get the needle. I don't want that."

Proton hadn't quite thought about it like that. He couldn't imagine himself in prison very well, and Petrel even less so. It had occurred that their grand plan could fail, of course, those sorts of things usually did, that was why he was in charge of the security department. But the fact that their downfall could leave them homeless or even dead had never even entered his mind. With a suffering sigh, he shrugged.

"Well, I don't think I can argue with that," he agreed. "And I guess if we get a place, anywhere, an entirely different region would be our best bet. What the hell, I'm in. But this place _better_ be as nice as you say it is." Petrel glanced up at him and grinned.

"Great!" he said. "Now go change into some civvie clothes, they're expecting us, soon." Proton snorted, amused, and went to go do just that.

* * *

Hoenn was warm. Dreadfully warm, in fact- or, rather, searing hot, and not to mention humid as fuck. Then again, Lilycove _was_ a coastal city, so Proton supposed that had something to do with it. Given enough time, he figured he could get used to it. Petrel, of course, didn't seem bothered in the least, an the instant the two had stepped outside of the PokeCenter, he had stretched and inhaled the sea air deeply.

"Ahh, I always forget how much I love this place!" the purple executive exclaimed. "Bright, sunny days, ocean breezes, tropical pokemon... Man, I'd move here now, if I could."

"I'm going to assume it never snows here," Proton grumbled. "Like, _ever_." Petrel laughed.

"No, it doesn't," he confirmed, "but, hell, you can go swimming year-round. That's gotta count for something. C'mon." He jerked his head in a direction that Proton was quite certain was East, or at least vaguely East. "They live pretty close to the beach." Without another word between the two, they set off, sandals slapping at their heels as they maneuvered across soft sand. They'd barely been outside ten minutes when they arrived at a nice little two-story beach house, but already Proton had been sweating up a storm, and he could barely remember the last time his clothes and hair had plastered to his body, like that. Petrel, on the other hand, didn't seem to be affected nearly as much as Proton, and once they arrived, he happily rang the doorbell as the green executive scowled at the back of his head. A few moments later, the door opened, and a woman with purple hair and tan skin opened the door. Upon seeing the two of them, she visibly brightened.

"You're here!" she observed, pulling Petrel into a hug. "Oh, Lambda, it's been _years_, you're looking so much better! How's your back, sweetie?"

"Hey, Aunt Quinn," he laughed in reply. "I'm doing way better, I can actually stand up straight, from time to time. Ah, but I changed the codename, I'm going by 'Petrel', now."

"I don't understand _why_ you all keep insisting on being called by those, especially with the family," Quinn said, shaking her head. She peered around him to smile at Proton, however, who glanced her over- she bore the same, sturdier build Hunter and Viper had, though she shared many of the same sharp facial features Petrel had. It was much easier to tell the two were related than it was with Petrel's more immediate family. "You must be Proton. I'm Lambda's- _Petrel's_ aunt, Quinn. It's nice to finally meet you, you're practically the only thing he's been talking about for almost a year, now."

"Oh, really?" Proton raised an eyebrow and smirked as Petrel rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Can't say I'm entirely surprised. It's nice to meet you, too, Miss Quinn."

"Ah, as polite as he is cute," Quinn laughed. "Come inside, now, you need to get out of this heat. Travis is just inside..."

It was a really nice house, Proton had to admit. It seemed freshly painted, and cleaned often, as there wasn't a hint of dust anywhere he looked. The walls were varying shades of light, minty colors, and though he'd prefer something a little darker, he supposed that was something he could take up with Petrel if they actually put the money down for the damn place. Besides that, it was open an spacious, something he enjoyed immensely, as he'd never quite liked living in confined spaces after residing in the old trailer with his mother for so long.

As soon as they had removed their shoes and entered, fully, they were accosted by a man who, despite looking to be maybe in his late thirties, already sported a full head of dark gray hair. He was almost as tall as Petrel, and he exuded an air of friendliness that Proton found quite absurd. The man wasted no time in capturing Petrel in a bear hug, slapping him on the back affectionately.

"Hey, there, Slugger!" he exclaimed. "Great to see ya! It's been _years_- you're looking great!"

"Uncle Travis," Petrel managed to gasp out, "Uncle Travis, _lungs. Air. Please._" Travis laughed and released him, leaving Petrel to regain his breath, and turned to Proton. The green executive started slightly and took a hesitant step back, fearing for his own respiratory system, and was trying to decide whether he should fling himself through the window or just run out the door when Travis extended his hand warmly, if firmly. After a moment, Proton shook it. "And _you_ must be the new guy. Watch out, kid, my nephew's protective as all hell. He'll punch out anyone he thinks is staring at you wrong."

"If there anything left of them when I'm done," Proton agreed. "Thank you for not slowly crushing my lungs."

"Any time." Travis grinned broadly. "So you two thinking of buying, huh?"

"Yeah," Petrel said, wincing slightly as he rubbed at his ribcage, "my idea. Fuck, did you have to hug so _tight_? Man, it's gonna _bruise_..."

"He sort of sprung it on me," Proton added. "Needless to say, I wasn't exactly a happy camper. We've reached an agreement, of course."

"Well, why don't you two take a look around while we get lunch ready?" Quinn suggested. "You don't have to make up your minds today, remember."

"Sure, sure. C'mon, Pro, let's explore a little." After thanking Travis and Quinn for allowing them to visit, Petrel and Proton set on off up the stairs and began poking around.

"No candles anywhere," Proton observed as they walked through the master bedroom, "that's a good sign. No mold."

"Check out this _view_!" Petrel exclaimed from the window. "Man, how beautiful is _this_? We've got the _perfect_ view of the beach- just imagine what it would look like with the sun rising over the water..."

"I like the wood flooring," Proton continued, completely ignoring Petrel's ramblings. "Especially that dark finish, that's _really_ nice. And it's pretty big, too. Bigger than our room, now, at least."

"Ha, some dude was surfing and he _totally_ failed..."

"Not too sure about the wall color, though, it's a little bright. We can paint over that, later, though, right?"

"Did that girl just fish out a _giant magikarp_?"

"I'm gonna check out the bathroom. You keep being a creeper."

"No, seriously, that _has_ to be the biggest fucking magikarp I've _ever_- wait, huh?" Petrel glanced over his shoulder and mock-scowled as Proton proceeded into the master bath and flicked on the lights. "I am _not_ being a creeper!"

"Whatever you say," Proton said, placatingly. He glanced briefly over the sink and cabinets- the basins were shaped like shells, which he found quite quaint- and passed the toilet- as long as it worked, he didn't give a damn about it- to the tub and shower, which were separated, something he found rather amusing. The shower was big enough for one person to have plenty of room, or for two to share the space comfortably, and had one of those fancy glass doors with the weak magnets so water wouldn't get out. The tub, on the other hand, had jets built into it, and Proton couldn't help but grin. "Aw, yeah, jacuzzi tub! Alright, this place won _my_ vote. Damn, if your aunt and uncle weren't here I'd _totally_ give it a whirl _right now_..."

"I'd say I'd join you, but I don't think they'd be exactly thrilled with us hooking up in here before they had the chance to actually move out," Petrel added from the doorway. "The girl with the magikarp left, so there was nothing interesting left to watch. To the other rooms?"

"One day, jacuzzi tub," Proton promised, "one day." He stood and followed Petrel back out into the hallway, scouring the closet at the end of the hallway and the bonus room before they found themselves in another bedroom, slightly smaller, with posters of fire-type pokemon, motorcycles, and hot chicks in bikinis covering nearly every inch of wall. The bed was made neatly, but showed no sign of use for at least a couple days.

"Oh," Petrel said, "this is Tabitha's room, then. Damn, that boy has a lot of posters. I wonder where he ran off to..."

"If he's been missing for so many days, why aren't any of you that worked up about it?" Proton asked as tested the plushness of the carpeting. "You'd think Quinn would at least be worried..."

"He's done this hundreds of times, before," the purpled executive replied, shrugging. "He's always been a little bit whimsical, and he loves to go camping, so sometimes he just disappears with his poochyena for a couple days. He always turns back up, though, and I don't think he goes too far, but if he doesn't how up in the next few days they may have to talk to the cops about it."

"Well, either way, I gotta admit: I'm loving his decorations." Petrel snorted and shook his head.

"Of _course_ you do. C'mon, Skippy, next room."

"Aw, what, jealous of a bunch of posters, P?"

"Mm, maybe you'll find out, later, sweetheart."

The rest of the house was just as nice as the first few rooms, with no visible damage to speak of, and really, the only thing Proton didn't like was the paintjob, though Petrel assured him multiple times that they would definitely be painting over it all, so there was really no excuse to say 'no'. The location was even perfect, standing on a beachside cliff that gave them both plenty of privacy and wonderful views in every direction. Travis and Quinn had even offered them a "family discount", and with such a deal to be presented before them, neither of the two executives could pass the chance up.

Once they had eaten lunch, the four of them went to fill out all the paper work and exchange the deed for two checks of equal amounts. Of course, even with the discount, neither of the two had much more money saved up, but really, it was worth it- they had their first house. As much as Proton tried to fight it, there was something comforting- blissful, even- about that fact. Of course, they weren't going to be moving in any time soon, and even though Quinn and Travis had offered to clear out for the two of them to spend the night there, they had to decline- they had work the next morning, after all, and they encouraged them to take as much time as they needed to move out, as it wasn't really a pressing matter.

Once that whole matter was taken care of, of course, there was still the matter of Tabitha. Quinn and Travis had suggested they split up, going to search the caves at the beach while Proton and Petrel found themselves west of the town, combing through tall grass and thin trees to see if the boy had made a campsite anywhere. They had been searching for thirty minutes when they came to a cross-route, and Proton huffed in annoyance.

"I don't think he's out that far," the green executive sighed. "I'm gonna head back and see if I can help your aunt and uncle in the caves. What's your move?"

"I'm gonna keep looking around here for a little bit," Petrel replied, "something tells me I might just get lucky." Proton shrugged and started walking back towards town.

"Suit yourself!" he called over his shoulder. "Dang-ass kids, always causing problems everywhere..." The purple executive couldn't help but laugh and turned back to the cross-route, glancing around slowly before letting his koffing out of its pokeball.

"Alright, Monoxide," he said, stroking the poison-types craggy surface, "we're looking for Tab. Look around and see if you can find anywhere a kid might be able to camp out, okay?"

"Koffiiiiing!" Monoxide agreed happily. It took a moment to butt its head (or rather, entire body) against Petrel's cheek, the koffing equivalent of a hug, and the purple executive couldn't help but laugh before pushing the koffing to work. It took another twenty minutes of searching, and Petrel was about to give up and return to the beach, as well, when he heard Monoxide's cry from off in the distance, and he frowned. Standing up (he'd been crawling under some foliage), he turned towards the source to see a large, oddly-shaped bush hiding behind some regular ones, and brow furrowing, he approached. Surely enough, as he got closer, he could hear his koffig more clearly, along with a young voice, occasionally cracking from the evils of puberty, pleading with the pokemon to not give him away. Immediately, Petrel felt relief wash over him, and he squatted, slowly navigating his way through the bushed before he found himself in a rather leafy secret base.

Monoxide was busy floating around in circles above the head of a boy no more than fourteen or fifteen sporting smoky, purplish hair and the somewhat droopy eyes that seemed to be a trademark of their family. Petrel smiled when he turned, looking akin to a deerling caught in the headlights at being found.

"Hey, Tabitha," the purple executive greeted gently. The boy remained silent for a moment before lowering his gaze ashamedly.

"Hi, Lambda," he murmured. "I guess you're here to make me go back home...?"

"Your mom would really be happy if you did," Petrel said earnestly. "What happened, Tab? You were gone for so long, you were starting to scare them." Tabitha didn't reply; rather, he gave a small whistle, and Petrel watched as a poochyena uncurled from somewhere in the darkness and ran over, panting happily as it hopped into his lap. He began petting it vacantly.

"...They want to move to Unova," he said at last. "I don't want to go."

"...Oh." Petrel shifted awkwardly. Yeah, they kinda bought Tab's house, didn't they? Whoops. "Yeah, I understand. Moving to a new place isn't always fun. I guess that's why they never let you go journeying, then? Because they've been planning this for a while?" Tabitha nodded wordlessly and pulled his puppy to his chest.

"I wanted to travel Hoenn, first," he said. "I wanted to challenge the Elite Four and become the champion with Jaspar." Upon hearing his name, the puppy barked. "I... I don't want to leave, Lambda. This is my _home_. It's not fair..."

"No, it isn't," Petrel agreed. "But... maybe I can talk to Uncle Travis about it. Maybe he can help me talk to Aunt Quinn, too, and they'll let you stay-"

"They won't," Tab cut him off, "they already made that _very_ clear." He paused, hesitating, and Petrel could see the gears turning in his mind as a conflicted expression passed across his face. "...Can I show you a secret? You have to promise not to tell anyone."

"Sure, kiddo." Petrel grinned. "Don't worry, good ol' Petrel won't tell a living soul." At Tabitha's confused look, he laughed. "Ah, sorry, sorry, I changed the codename since the last time we saw each other. I'm an Executive now, y'know?"

"An Executive? Really? That's _so cool_!" He laughed again and ruffled his little cousin's hair, making the latter exclaim in discontent.

"Don't let your parents hear you saying that, they only put up with me because I'm good to you. Hey still won't talk to my dad or my brother. Now, what's this super special secret you want to show me?" Again, Tabitha hesitated, but it was only for a second before he reached back and hauled over his backpack, unzipping it and pulling something suspiciously red out from inside. Slowly, he began unfolding it, and laid it out for Petrel to see before pulling something else out of his bag and laying that out, too. He proceeded to do this until the unmistakable uniform worn by Team Magma's grunts was fully displayed, and Petrel just sat there, staring with wide eyes.

"Well?" Tab prompted. "Isn't it _cool_?"

"You- that- it's- what the hell?!" Petrel cried, completely lost for words. "You're shitting me! You don't mean to tell me you actually went out and found a Magma _recruiter?!_"

"Yeah!" his little cousin said proudly. "It was really hard, but I found one on the northern route, and after I totally schooled him in a pokemon battle, he took me to some outpost-!"

"What the hell, Tabitha?!" the Rocket snapped. "Are you _trying_ to screw up your life?!" Tab's smile slowly faded into a confused frown.

"What? I- no, Lambda, I was just-!"

"_Not thinking_?! Dammit, Tabitha, you know they're considered _terrorists_, don't you?! They're an extremist group, if you throw in with them, now, you're screwing up any chance of getting into the Elite Four!"

"I _know_ that, but-"

"This is _exactly_ what your parents didn't want for you, alright?! This is why I'm never allowed to stay over for more than a day or two, and why they never let you come to visit me- they didn't want you getting mixed up in this shit! What were you thinking?!"

"_I just wanted to be like you_!" Tabitha finally shouted. Petrel froze as his little cousin glared at him (completely non-threatening, of course) and when he didn't say anything, Tab continued. "I don't _care_ what Mom and Dad wanted for me, it's my own damn life! You were always so cool, and you're really strong and you're even an _Executive_ now, and... and... I just wanna be like you..."

"Ohhh, _Mew_," Petrel groaned, face-palming. "Of _all_ the role-models, the hell did you have to go and pick _me_ for...? C'mere, you little brat..." They hugged for a moment, and when they pulled apart, Petrel ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "...So you have your heart set on this, then?" Tab nodded, and Petrel shrugged. "Well, what could I possibly do to stop you? I'll cover for you with your parents. Tell them you wanted to spend a little more time saying goodbye to the place, and that we'll send you over. Then in a few weeks, once you haven't showed up to the new place, I'll say you ran away again and the next time you called you had a badge, so we couldn't just tear you away from it. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like a plan." Tab smiled. "Thanks, Lambda."

"Any time, kiddo. Now let me see just how spiffy you look in that uniform, eh?" His smile growing into a grin, Tabitha agreed, and Petrel turned away as he changed. When he turned back, he was surprised by just how well the bright red uniform seemed to fit his little cousin. "You might make a pretty good Magma, actually," he admitted grudgingly. "I kind of wish I could come keep an eye on you, though."

"It's weird," Tab agreed, "it feels really natural. Except, it also kinda feels like it's missing something..."

"Oh, I know what that is," Petrel replied. "Here, I brought something for you, today..." He took a minute to fish through his pocket before he withdrew a small earring with a sharpedo fang dangling from it; Tabitha's eyes lit up brightly, and Petrel chuckled. "Don't tell your parents, alright? Want me to do it for you, now?"

"You can do that?" the new Magma grunt asked in awe. Petrel nodded.

"Yeah, sure, I figured we might have to take care of it in secret, I brought some medical supplies in my bag... Proton tired to make me leave it, he kept saying it made me look stupid..." He motioned vaguely to the fannypack at his waist and Tab snickered.

"He was right, it does."

"Shut up, you." Petrel opened said fannypack and pulled out the supplies he brought. "Now hold still, I don't wanna cut your whole damn ear off, by mistake..."

* * *

When Petrel returned to the house Tabitha-less, Quinn had really started to worry, and she almost made it to the phone when he had stopped her and explained the situation to her, sticking to the story he had laid out with his little cousin. That went well for about five seconds when she demanded why he hadn't come back with him, in that case, and when Petrel couldn't answer, she became furious with him.

"Honey-" Travis was fixed with the death glare, himself, when he tried to console her, and he simply gave Petrela look that said "you're on your own, kid", before backing off entirely. Proton had taken to playing boredly with his switchblade in the background, a sight that did not reassure Petrel in any way.

"What aren't you telling me, Lambda?!" Quinn growled. Petrel threw his hands up placatingly.

"Look, Aunt Quinn, I sorta kinda promised Tab I wouldn't say anything-"

"Where the _hell_ is my son?!"

"He's _fine_, he's just out camping-"

"If you don't tell me where the hell he is, I swear to Mew...!" Petrel frowned slightly and dropped his gaze to the floor, musing that this must have been much how Tabitha had felt when he got caught in his secret base. After a moment, however, he smiled his usual, serene smile and stared Quinn straight in the eye.

"He's on an adventure. He wants to stay here, you know. He's probably half-way to Fortree, right now."

"But-"

"Let him go." Petrel and Quinn both turned to look at Proton, who stared at them for a minute, then shrugged. "It's what he wants to do, right? He's old enough to travel, and from what I hear, his poochyena is a force to be reckoned with. You don't wanna know what grudges can do to a family." Quinn had simply burst into tears, and as Travis went to comfort her, Proton and Petrel excused themselves and headed off to teleport back to Johto.

They tried not to talk about it- they focused instead on their new piece of property, celebrating with some wine they'd been saving for movie night and a warm, home-cooked meal they threw together from whatever they could find in the fridge. And of course, once Silver was in bed, they decided to up the ante, a little bit- just because their tub didn't have water jets, that didn't make it any less fun.

* * *

**.-. Man, I wish we even _had_ a tub in the dorm. One day, jacuzzi tub. One day.**


	20. Arrested: Capture

Disclaimer: Vegeta! What does the scouter say about the chapter number? It's over nineteen!

Oh, shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

This was _not_ how the mission was supposed to be going. _Shit_.

It had sounded easy at the start- he and Petrel were just going to sneak into the department store in Goldenrod, do some recon, and steal some supplies. It wasn't even a high-risk mission, which was why Petrel was going with him in the first place, and neither of them had considered the faintest possibilities of what could go wrong. Needless to say, when they showed up to find the International Police poking around, they had been rather startled, and not having anything to teleport back on, they had tried to turn and leave without drawing any attention to themselves.

They had almost been to the gates when some asshole by-stander blew the whistle on them, and Proton had attempted to silence him (it turns out a knife to the throat works wonderfully in those situations), but he wasn't fast enough, and soon enough they had anywhere from seven to fifteen agents on their tail as they ran into the Ilex Forest. The densely packed brush was great for losing pursuers in most circumstances, and though the IP didn't seem to want to give up on them, they were able to put a little bit of distance between them. A little bit- not enough. Bullets ricocheted off of trees around them, and more often then not the two found themselves ducking behind thick trunks or throwing themselves flat on the ground to try and avoid being shot.

At this pace, they would never get back in time. In front of him, Proton saw Petrel leap a log, and he prepared himself to do the same when he saw his friend suddenly fall, letting out a yelp. Proton's eyes widened, but there was nothing he could do, now suspended in mid-air. He tried to avoid landing on Petrel, and he almost stuck the landing, too, but his foot caught on a root and he, too, fell, his leg twisting painfully as he went down. There was sickening snap as he landed, and a jolt of pain shot up from his calf.

"Proton!" Petrel said, pushing himself to his feet as he grasped his shoulder. "Proton, are you alright?"

"Yeah- yeah, I'm fine," Proton grunted. "Just gotta walk it off- go on, I'll catch- _oh fuck!_" He'd tried to stand, but a blinding pain shot forth through him and he howled in agony, falling back to the ground.

"Holy _shit_!" Petrel swore, crouching next to him. "Pro, your _leg_!"

"Yeah my fuckin' leg, the hell did you think?!" Proton snapped. "Just fuckin' go!"

"The bone is _poking out of your skin, dammit_! I'm not leaving you for _them_!" Petrel grabbed Proton's arm, pulling it around his shoulder, and slowly helped him stand up before they began to move, Proton biting down hard on his knuckles to stifle the screams that threatened to tear through his throat with every step. "It's alright, Pro- just a little farther! Just a little farther, okay?"

"Right," Proton managed to gasp out, "go right, it gets even more dense, we can hide better..."

"Right it is," Petrel agreed. They were moving even slower, now, and Proton glanced over his shoulder every now and then to gage just how far away the IP was. He could have sworn he could see some of them, now, and he wondered if this was even worth it. The trees seemed to be doing their job, though, as the shots fired at them became fewer and fewer, and soon enough, they were able to duck behind another rotting log and sit for a minute to rest. Petrel insisted on taking a look on Proton's leg, and he frowned as he gingerly traced around the wound. "We need to disinfect this and wrap it up as soon as possible. If you get an infection, I'm going to kill myself." Proton nodded tiredly, completely content with letting Petrel fuss over him for once- that is, until he noticed the dark, shiny stain growing in a circle on the man's shoulder.

"Fuck!" he swore. "Petrel, you're shot!" Petrel glanced at his wound and grimaced.

"I know," he said, "it hurts like hell, but I think you win this one. Don't worry about me, now, sweetheart, we need to fix your leg."

"Dammit, Petrel-" Petrel rolled his eyes and sighed, cutting Proton off with a kiss, and then proceeded to ignore him and start digging through his bag. Proton huffed, but he ceased his complaints and leaned back, preparing himself for the inevitable pain. He closed his eyes the instant Petrel pulled out a small bottle of disinfectant.

"...This is gonna hurt like a bitch," the purple executive said quietly, "I'm not gonna lie. You think you can handle it?"

"Just fuckin' do it," Proton whispered. "Get it over with, _please_." Petrel nodded and pulled off Proton's boot (Proton whimpered, but was pleased to report he didn't scream, again), then proceeded to use the green executive's switchblade to cut his pantleg off just below the knee. He took a moment to remove his gloves (they were covered in mud and dirt) and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, pouring the disinfectant onto it and gently dabbing it at Proton's wound. Proton squirmed and gritted his teeth, hissing as his features twisted in agony.

"Shh, shh," Petrel murmured soothingly, "it's alright, sweetheart. Just try to relax, alright? This won't take much longer." His words helped ease Proton's mind, and just as he said, the disinfecting was soon over. He assumed that meant wrapping it, and he managed a small smirk as Petrel dove back into his bag to look for the bandages. He had been in no way prepared for the purple-haired executive to shove his bone back into place. Again, a searing pain shot through him and stars exploded in front of his eyes.

For a moment he wasn't aware of much of anything besides the fact that his leg felt like it was laying around in a pool of molten lava, though slowly but surely he realized he'd been screaming bloody murder. Petrel had quickly been able to bandage him up, it seemed, and the taller man was now cradling Proton's head in his lap, stroking his hair and whispering an endless stream of apologies to him.

"It'll be okay," he promised, "I'm so, so sorry, Proton, this is all my fault... It'll be okay, don't worry, I'll get you back to the base..." There was the snapping of twigs nearby; the two froze and their heads whipped towards the sound. Petrel swore.

"Get out of here," Proton hissed, "I'll only slow you down, _get out of here_."

"Fuck that," Petrel growled. "Don't do anything stupid and let me do all the talking." Proton scowled as Petrel slowly got to his feet, raising his hands above his head. When he spoke again, it was louder, so their pursuers could hear him. "Don't shoot! We're done running- we'll come quietly!"

"Petrel, shut up!" Proton snapped. Petrel continued.

"Seriously, we're not going to try anything! I'm going to get down on the ground, now, alright?" Hands still in the air, he dropped to his knees and flopped down face-first, then placed his hands on the back of his head. "My friend has a pretty bad break in his leg, though, so please be careful." Almost immediately, International Police agents swarmed them, and Proton snarled as they roughly pulled him to his feet, shoved him against a tree, and proceeded to pat him down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Petrel getting the same treatment, though he was merely grimacing and taking it as though he'd been arrested, before. Honestly, he probably had, though Proton wasn't quite sure for what.

They were marched out of the forest, Proton limping terribly (he refused to allow himself to even grunt in the presence of others, though) and back to the outskirts of the forest, where they weren't even read their rights, and took a long ride in the back of a cop car to the Johto headquarters of the International Police. From there, they were processed, booked, and separated. Proton glanced over his shoulder to meet Petrel's concerned gaze as they were led away from each other, and he tried to smile in return.

They were never getting home.

* * *

It had been nearly three hours. Proton had been taken into a room, empty save for a stainless steel table and a matching pair of chairs, where he was told to sit and place his hands on top of said table. He'd also gotten a cast and a pair of crutches, mostly, he figured, because they were getting irritated with him limping and grunting everywhere. Either way, he was glad, though he wasn't sure if they'd put it on him right. Idly, he wished it had been Petrel who had done it for him.

There was a large window in the room, tinted so heavily he could only see his reflection in it, and quite honestly, he was not happy with what he saw. His hair was sticking up in every direction, his eyes bloodshot, and his skin a sickly pale. He attributed this to his leg still hurting like hell (the motherfuckers refused to give him aspirin), and sorely wished they'd let him keep his hat and switchblade. He didn't feel right without either of them- in fact, as long as he had his hat, he was sure he could handle being stuck in the bright orange jumpsuit they'd forced him to wear. More than anything, of course, he wished Petrel was there with him, even if they wouldn't be allowed to talk to each other. He was loathe to admit it, but this was his first time getting arrested, and he was dreadfully nervous. He seriously needed some comfort, right now.

With nothing to do, he had quickly gotten bored, and was reduced to tapping out show tunes on the table as he waited. When the door finally opened, and he glanced up. An armed guard entered, gun grasped loosely in his hands, and he held the door open for a woman to enter after him.

"You've got a visitor," he sneered before turning to her. "We'll be right outside if you need anything, Ma'am."

"Thank you," came the familiar voice. The guard stepped out and let the door close behind him as the woman strode around to sit in the chair across from Proton. His eyes, wide with shock, never left her face. She was much older than he remembered, and she looked as though she had finally been able to pull herself up from poverty, as the clothes she wore were new and crisp and her green hair was well-cared for. Her hazel eyes bore the same kindness he'd always seen from her, and he couldn't help but wonder how, exactly, this was possible. "Hello, honey. How are you?"

He moved his mouth wordlessly for a few seconds, trying to speak but ultimately unable to produce words, and the woman's gaze became overwhelmingly full of pity. "You...," he choked out, "you... you're supposed to be _dead_, I _threw my knife into your jugular!_"

"Very close to it," the woman agreed, nodding, "they said you missed just enough to give me the time I needed for them to save me. Lance, sweetie... I'm sorry."

"My name is Proton," he corrected automatically. "Don't fuckin' call me Lance, _my name is Proton_."

"I don't care," she replied, "you'll always be my little Lance, honey. Nothing will ever change that, not even how terrible I was as a mother."

"You're not my Ma," he snapped, "my Ma's _dead_. You're _not her_. She wouldn't be apologizin', she'd be _scoldin'_ me, she'd be puttin' me in my place." Even as he talked, his eyes began to wander, traveling down her long, flowing hair, to her body, thin and recovering from malnourishment, his mind easily computing her fragileness and weak spots. He suddenly remembered it was Wednesday. He hadn't gone out on Wednesday in weeks. It was about time to step back into his game, if only he had his switchblade.

"When you were ten, you told me your favorite pokemon was slowpoke, because you could cut its tail off and it would always grow back." His eyes snapped back up to the woman's face, momentarily distracted from the spark of bloodlust that had settled into his stomach.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"Don't you remember?" He scowled.

"How the hell do you know that, bitch!?"

"I told you, honey. It's me." Proton had to bite back a growl that was threatening to rise in his throat, and when he didn't say anything, she continued. "They told me you've killed a lot of people. I never should have sent you to the supermarket, that day. It's my fault all of this happened." He snorted and leaned forward, bracing himself on his elbows.

"Alright," he said sedately, "let's say I believe you're my mother. Care to answer a lugiadamn question? Why the hell did you leave Dad?! And not more of those lugiadam lies you told me when I was a child, I want the fuckin' truth!" Ada closed her eyes for a moment and gathered herself.

"I left him because he threatened to call the police. I was growing mrijuana in the attic." She began to launch into some story or another on the subject, but Proton had stopped paying attention, again, though it wasn't like he meant to. His eyes just kept traveling downwards of their own accord, his mind playing flashback after flashback of those pretty girls he slaughtered twice a week until their faces were replaced by the woman's in front of him, imagining what she would look like, screaming beneath him. How the blood would splatter, how her hair would fall like a halo around her head, the beautiful patterns he would carve into her flesh... Slowly, he licked his lips to whet them, taking note of the arousal beginning to build in his core.

Wait. Wait a second.

Oh, Lugia. His eyes widened once more as the gravity of the situation hit him, like a rain of shrapnel, and his throat dried as, finally, he understood why he'd always chosen the ones that looked the way they did.

"C-can I get a glass of water, or somethin'?" he choked out. Ada paused in her long anecdote, her brow furrowing.

"Are you alright, honey?" she asked. Proton quickly fixed his eyes on the desk.

"Please, can I just get some water?"

"You're looking paler than when I came in. This is upsetting you, isn't it, talking about this? Your father-"

"Is dead," he cut in. "He's fuckin' _dead_, I killed the bastard, myself. Dead just like Eloisa, just a little more... _stabby_."

"Lance...?" He tried to mask his face with his trademark smirk, but try as he might, he could not overcome the shock, and his eyes remained wide as dinner plates. He could see his reflection in the window. It was terrifying.

"I fuckin' killed that asshole, yeah!" he laughed. "I killed Eloisa, too! I fuckin' smothered that lugiadamn bitch in her sleep! And you know what?" He leaned even further forward, smirk broadening, and his voice dropped to a quiet whisper. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, too." It was Ada's turn to look startled, and slowly, she pushed the chair back and got to her feet. Proton watched her preditorily before he, too, pushed himself to his feet. She took several steps backwards, towards the door, and he lunged, snarling. The guards chose precisely that minute to rush in, grabbing him and forcing his hands behind his back. Despite this, he struggled against them and continued to lunge, his voice raising to a shout. "_You hear me, bitch?! I'll fuckin' kill you! I'LL FUCKIN' KILL YOU!_"

She ran from the room; the guards forced him back down into his chair and cuffed his hands behind him, but he didn't care. All he could do was laugh.

* * *

Petrel huffed as he drummed his fingers idly on the metal table. He'd been waiting for almost three hours, spending each and every second hoping they weren't mistreating Proton. He'd be damned if they hurt him any more than he already was.

He'd been surprised, of course, when no one came in to interrogate him right away. He had assumed that, being an executive, he would have been pretty high up on the priority list, and the entire time he sat in the room unattended, he hummed the tune of _Hallelujah_, occasionally pretending the table was his piano back at the base. Eventually, someone had come in to ask him questions, and it was then he'd had the most fun, pointedly ignoring them until they became so frustrated they had cursed and left him to his silence. Idly, he wondered when they would try again. He went back to playing on his imaginary piano, sending smirks to the tinted window off to the side.

When the door opened the next time, he didn't even look up from the table, continuing to press keys that weren't there. He hoped this next guy would be more fun, and when he saw him hop up to sit on the table out of the corner of his eye, he knew he would be in for a good time.

"Well, well. It's been a while, Lambda." If he'd been playing a real piano, his song would have stopped with all the wrong notes screeching and dying at once. Slowly, his hands curled into fists. He hadn't heard that voice in almost six years. "Hello? Earth to Lambda! Babe, I know you can hear me. C'mon, now, look at me. I thought you would have been _thrilled_ to see me."

"...Hello, Alex." It was such a simple phrase, but astoundingly, it brought a lump to his throat and his eyes sting. It had been a long time since he'd been able to say that. A long, long time. Without waiting to be asked again, he lifted his head to gaze upward.

He looked almost exactly as Petrel remembered. His hair was slightly long, styled with great care, a beautiful burnt orange, his dazzling mint-colored eyes gazing out from behind those stylish sunglasses of his. He'd gotten a new piercing in his left ear, it seemed, and Petrel had to admit that the asymmetry balanced itself out, somehow. His uniform, no longer the shadowy black and crisp yellow and red that had been the trademark of the Espionage department, was now a gray blazer and slacks over an indigo shirt, with an ID card dangling from his neck that identified him as a member of the International Police. He hadn't seemed to have aged a day.

"What, that's it?" Alex snickered. "No kisses, no hugs, no chocolate? You've got to be the _worst_ boyfriend _ever_."

"That sort of ended when you flaked on the Team," Petrel said tiredly. "Besides, you're allergic to chocolate. I'd be an even worse boyfriend if I sent you into an epileptic shock."

"I still expect kisses and hugs," Alex sniffed, crossing his arms. "You owe me that much, at least."

"I don't owe you anything," the Rocket disagreed. "I've covered your ass for almost six years, now. If anything, _you_ owe _me._" Alex clicked his tongue thoughtfully and shrugged before leaning down and pressing his lips to Petrel's. Petrel found himself kissing back, though not because he wished to, only because it was an automatic reaction. He'd spent years kissing Alex, among other things. It was just sort of ingrained in him. After a moment, his ex-lover pulled away, frowning.

"You've gotten stale," he accused. "I guess you haven't been practicing, much, then."

"I thought maybe you'd come back. It was a stupid idea, but a comforting one, nonetheless."

"So you knew what happened."

"I found letters in your desk. I had a hunch."

"I suppose that explains why you aren't all that surprised to see me. Why didn't you out me?"

"Your parents would mourn, either way. I wanted them to remember you with fondness, not bitterness. They go by your grave often."

"I have a grave? On the grounds?"

"Yes. I was there for the service. It was beautiful. Your headstone is right at the edge, next to the cherry trees. It's lovely in the spring."

"I'll bet." Alex stretched and leaned back, propping himself up with his arms. "That guy they found you with- is he... y'know...?"

"Yeah." Petrel lowered his gaze to the table and began playing the imaginary piano once more. "We're together. You're not allowed to be jealous. _You_ left _me_."

"You're not still bitter about that, are you?"

"What, that the love of my life betrayed the entire mewdamn team and left me alone? Why would you ever think _that_?" They descended into an awkward silence, but Petrel never once stopped his hand's motions, and soon enough Alex was watching attentively. For a moment, he could almost pretend they were back in their apartment in Kanto, young and just beginning work as Admins, full of hope for the future. But only a moment.

"_Hallelujah_," Alex murmured. "I'm surprised you still know how to play it."

"It's your favorite song. Of course I still know how to play it."

"What's New Guy's favorite song? Did you learn to play that?"

"Not completely. I was going to surprise him for his birthday. It's coming up in a few months."

"So what is it? The song?"

"It's _Thriller_. One time we got wasted and I got a recording of him singing it. It's his ringtone on my pokegear." Alex smiled softly.

"You know, Lambda dearest, you always were the most thoughtful man I've ever known. It's a shame you work for such scumbags. You could have been putting your talents to use for the good of people who matter." Petrel's hands faltered for a moment.

"The real scumbags are the ones who never seem to understand that all people matter."

"Ha, asshole. You're so passive-aggressive. Ah, hold on one sec..." Alex paused to press the radio in his ear slightly, frowning as he listened. After a moment, he rolled his eyes. "Gotta say, it doesn't seem to matter who you work for, someone always seems to have a problem with the way you handle things."

"So you're not just here to chat, then? I'm disappointed."

"Maybe I'll drop by and visit while you're in maximum, and we can chat, then. For now, I need you to talk to me, babe. We have questions we need you to answer."

"I want to see Proton."

"Out of the question."

"Not in private, or anything. I just want to make sure his leg is okay, and that you bastards aren't mistreating him. You can ask me while he's here." Alex pursed his lips and nodded.

"Well... alright. I don't see the harm in it, I guess. One second then." He hopped down from the table and left the room, leaving Petrel to mull over that entire conversation.

Yeah, that was something he'd never told a soul. His ex hadn't been as good of a Rocket as he'd led everyone on to believe. He'd known long before he found the letters bargaining for Alex's own safety with the IP, known long before they were graduated from trainee status. Despite his parent's best efforts, Alex had grown with a cut-and-dried, black-and-white view of the world, in which there were only two possibilities: you were either a criminal, or a hero, and to him, Rockets were anything but heroes. There had been plenty small 'pranks' the two had played together, holding up missions and projects, though never doing any real damage to the team. For Petrel, it had simply been a rebellious stage, but as time passed, Alex grew more and more cunning and his little pranks became more and more volatile to the state of the team. He'd spent most of his time ignoring it, against his better judgment.

It wasn't much longer before the door opened, again, and Alex was back, this time with a sableye perched on his shoulder and a couple armed guards. Petrel ignored them and smiled at the little dark-ghost.

"Aww, hey, Slim!" he greeted. "I wondered where you were, buddy. Remember me?" The sableye, Slim, cackled in reply, causing Petrel to grin, and he turned his gaze to Alex's face. "I'm glad you kept him with you. I gotta say, I really missed his shenanigans."

"Want him?" Alex asked, smiling wryly. "He keeps getting me in trouble with my boss. Anyways, it looks like your buddy tried to kill his visitor, so he's not allowed out of his chair, right now. We'll have to bring you to him. Stay in front of us and don't make any sudden movements, babe, alright?" Petrel sighed and nodded, standing and heading on out the door ahead of them. He was directed through the hallways and around several corners until Alex pointed out the door they were heading for. Petrel whistled and allowed himself to be pushed along, casting a fleeting glance at some green-haired woman standing around sobbing across from Proton's interrogation room. He was about to ignore her altogether before something clicked in his mind and he stopped in his tracks, frowning.

"...Mrs. Lance's Mom?" he ventured awkwardly. "What are you doing here? I thought he jammed a knife into your throat." The woman took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to calm herself, raising her head to stare at him.

"You... you're..." Her brow furrowed in confusion. "You're that street vendor I passed on my way home, that one day..."

"...Yeah," he said sheepishly, "yeah, I was. I'm a Rocket, Ma'am. I was there to kidnap your son. I... I'm sorry. But I think it was better for him, this way. I'm... guessing you saw how he gets when he's angry."

"He said he was going to kill me," she murmured. "My own son... my own _son_..." Petrel grimaced.

"You must have pissed him off pretty bad," he said. "What got him so upset?"

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't know, he asked me what had happened between his father and I, and right in the middle he asked for a glass of water, and then he just... _lost it_..."

"He's under a lot of stress, right now, Ma'am, things have been... _difficult_, lately. Normally he spends Wednesdays on stress-relief, but he wasn't-" His words halted abruptly and died in the back of his throat. That was it. That was what happened. It was Wednesday, and Proton hadn't been able to go out on his little murder rampage in weeks, while his mother... Petrel frowned as he studied her a little more carefully. Green hair, hazel eyes, weak figure... Just like every other girl Proton had slaughtered. "...Oh, Mew... You're... and _he_... _Shit_. Just... just _shit_, it all makes sense now, but that's... That's _fucked up_."

"Are we done chatting here, babe?" Alex prodded. "C'mon, we don't have all day." Petrel bit his lip and nodded uncertainly, casting one final, pitying glance over his shoulder at Ada. There was no doubt in his mind what sort of state Proton would be in when he entered, and all he could hope was that his sweetheart was uninjured, and chained down tight so he wouldn't hurt anyone.

With a deep breath, he opened the door, and stepped inside.

* * *

**You probably thought this wasn't a cliff-hangar. Nnnnnnnnnope.**

**Also, I put Alex's concept art up on my deviantart, if you guys are interested or whatever. I go by Nocturneofeclipse, same as here on FF. You can just slap the following onto the end of the web address, though:**

**/art/Slowpoke-Tails-and-Koffing-Fumes-Concept-Art- Alex-355733132**


	21. Liar, Liar

Disclaimer: These are not the lawsuits you're looking for. Move along.

The room was as bare as his own had been, but quite honestly, Petrel didn't give a shit about that. It was an IP interrogation room, they _all_ looked the same. No, what Petrel gave a shit about was the fact that Proton a) had the creepiest fucking look on his face that he'd ever seen, b) was laughing hysterically as though he recently had ingested hyper potion, and c) was, in fact, handcuffed to his chair. He was especially thankful for that last one, as he highly doubted it would have been safe for even _him_ to approach Proton, otherwise.

"Pro?" he called over the green executive's laughter. "Care to let me in the joke?" Carefully, he approached, taking even, measured steps. Proton's eyes flickered over to him, and and it seemed he did his best to stifle his own laughter, quieting into an off-and-on stream of giggles. Petrel sighed and kneeled in front of him, grabbing him by the chin to make sure they maintained eye contact. "Tell me what's wrong, sweetheart." Proton simply shook his head and his laughter began to return full-force; Petrel strengthened his grip, however, and forced him to face him. "Proton, I swear to Mew, if you don't tell me _now_..."

"I-i-it was her," Proton choked out, "it w-was _her_, s-she's... _she's_... _Aha... ahahaha..._ Th-that's the reason, y'know... Th-that's the reason they all l-l-looked like that, 'cause _s-sh-she's_..."

"I know," Petrel whispered, "I understand. I saw her. Try not to think about it, alright? Calm down, now... deep breaths... there you go. Now, let's take a look at that leg of yours..." He released Proton from his grip and turned his attention to the cast around the greenette's leg, frowning slightly as he looked it over. "_Ugh_... such a shoddy job... Assholes. _I_ should have been the one doing this for you, this is a fucking _disgrace_..."

"I thought so, too," Proton agreed, slumping slightly. "Everything just had to go wrong, today, didn't it?"

"You two lovebirds done?" Alex cut in. "Look, babe, you've seen his leg, you've seen him, now it's time for your part of the bargain." He motioned to the other chair and Petrel and Proton frowned in unison.

"Hold on," the shorter executive said, "don't tell me you bargained _just_ to come check up on me..."

"You needed it. Can we discuss the morality later? Now's really not the time." Proton scowled at him as he slumped down into the chair, waiting patiently as Alex cuffed his hands behind him. "Really, now? _Really_? _Him_ I get, _he's_ unstable.

"Wha-?! The hell I am, bastard!"

"Both of you, _be quiet_," Alex growled. "I didn't allow both of you to be in the same damn room so you could talk over me."

"Hate to break it to you, dear, but I never agreed to answer _any_ of your Mewdamned questions." Proton's scowl deepened.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _what_ did you call him?" he growled. "Who the hell is this bitch, Petrel?!"

"_Shut up_!" Alex finally snapped. His gaze focused on Petrel, and he leaned over him threateningly. "You'll answer all of my questions, _Lambda dearest_, whether you want to or not." Petrel laughed.

"Are you shitting me?" he asked, highly amused. "No, seriously, _are you shitting me_. You went through the _exact_ same training I did when we were kids, Alex. There's absolutely _nothing_ you can do to me to make me talk."

"_Alex_? As in, your dead ex Alex?" Proton stared for a moment before shaking his head. "_What_?"

"I never said he was dead," Petrel pointed out, "just... gone."

"I said _shut_. _Up_." Petrel felt his expression slacken as he heard the metallic click next to his head, and if that wasn't enough to tell him there was a gun pointed at his head, Proton's sudden snarl and lunge against his restraints were a nice tip-off as well. Obediently, he kept his mouth shut tight, and he stared emotionless straight ahead, avoiding Alex's cruel smirk. "Better. You finally seem to understand the position you're in. Now, I'm going to give you one more chance, babe: are we doing this _easy _way...?" The cold metal was now pressed to his temple; he didn't even blink. "...Or the _hard_ way?"

"Do whatever you want," the purple executive murmured in reply, "not like the League would allow you to do more than yell in our faces, anyways. Besides, you wouldn't kill me. You need me alive." Alex let out a "tch", and Petrel allowed a faint smile to grace his lips. "That's what I thought."

"You're naïve to think I'd come unprepared," the brunette sneered.

"Whatever you have up your sleeves, to me it'll be less than the bite of an ant." Alex paused, and Petrel chanced a glance up at his face. His smirk had broadened, a calculating look in his eyes, and to be honest, the purple executive didn't like it, one bit.

"Well, then," the traitor said quietly, "we'll just have to see what New Guy thinks about that, hmm?" He pulled the walkie-talkie off his belt and pressed the transmit button. "Bring it in, please." Not a moment later, the door opened, and one of the guards from earlier wheeled in a cart, much like one of the ones Petrel kept around in his office. Three needles rested on top of it, and Alex thanked the guard before wheeling it over to Proton, himself.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" he snarled. "I swear, if you put one hand near me I'll fuckin' bite it off!"

"He's a little more _violent_ than you usually go for," Alex mused, mostly ignoring his outburst. "I think we can fix that, though." He grabbed one of the needles and held it up, peering at the liquid for a minute before turning to show it to Petrel. "I think you know what this is, Lambda dearest. Tubocurarine- why don't you tell your little boyfriend what it does, hmm?" Petrel's eyes narrowed into a glare, and he couldn't help but jerk against his handcuffs, as well. This must have been what Proton felt on a regular basis, he thought- this rage beginning to boil in his stomach, the seeds of sadism being sown in his mind; how dearly he wished to shove Alex into one of the chairs, himself, and show him _exactly_ what that chemical did, and if he could get his hands on the right combination, _exactly_ how much he could make it hurt. Instead, he found himself submitting to the brunette's order, and he was downright disgusted with himself.

"Tubocurarine, a skeletal muscle relaxant," he heard himself recite, "most commonly used in anesthesia for medical purposes, it causes minor paralyzation in the muscles and lungs. Recipients have likened it to the sensation of slowly drowning."

"Very good!" Alex praised. He grabbed Proton's arm and ripped the sleeve off of his jumpsuit, causing the executive to struggle fiercely, but the traitor was having none of it; his grip simply tightened, and he stuck the needle into Proton's bicep, injecting the chemical into him. Proton hissed and flailed even more, though Alex only took a step back to observe. Petrel watched as Proton continued to struggle, slowing and slowing until, finally, he was still, breathing heavily. "Now, this next one should be fun, it's-"

"Hold on," Petrel quickly cut him off, "I don't know what the hell kind of interrogation you're pulling, here, but you're not going to get anything if you don't ask any questions." He winced inwardly as his ex turned to him, his smirk broadening.

"You're absolutely right," he purred, "how silly of me. Let's start with something easy, then. Name and rank?"

"Petrel Orpheon, Executive, Medical and Science departments."

"And him?"

"Proton, Executive, Security and Engineering derpartments." Alex pursed his lips.

"What, he doesn't have a last name?"

"Never knew. Never needed to. In our line of work, names are unimportant. You know that."

"Mm. Fine, I'll let that one slide. What were you doing in Goldenrod, today?" Petrel hesitated when Proton glared at him. "You have three seconds, or he gets the next needle. Three... two..."

"We were just going to jack some cash and supplies. That's all. With the downfall of the Kanto branch, we're transitioning into self-sufficiency, but we needed a jump-start. It was supposed to be easy- in, out, back home in time for dinner."

"Where's the base, then?" He didn't need Proton's glare to know to keep his mouth shut, and he unfocused his gaze, letting Alex know that, too. "Tsk, tsk, tsk... I did warn you, Lambda. Care to tell him what _this one_ does? I bet you can guess what it is- this _is_ your _favorite_ drug cocktail, after all."

Petrel opened his mouth, hesitating, and stole a glance at Proton. The poor man, he thought. The poor, poor man. This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. "...Quinuclidinyl benzilate. Developed as a military-grade chemical that causes a variety of symptoms, including mydriasis, cottonmouth, increased and decreased heart rate, akathisia, ataxia, and hallucinations. In conjunction with tubocurarine, it can also cause amplified power of pain receptors." He squeezed his eyes shut when Alex jammed the second needle into Proton's arm. This was his fault. This was all his fault. He never should have asked to see Proton, he never should have been so honest when Alex had been inquiring about their relationship. The traitor was right- he _was_ too naïve. Just as it had before, his attachments were slowly but surely leading him step by step to the guillotine, and with each one he dragged Proton along with him for the ride.

The effects on his coutnerpart were, more or less, immediate- it took days for the chemical to run its complete course, and most of the symptoms wouldn't set in for the next few hours, but the most immediate and most noticeable was the intense dilation of those piercing green eyes. Proton whimpered and shut his own eyes tightly, trying to block out the light that was now most likely physically painful to him.

"How about something a little easier to get us back on track?" Alex suggested. "Why don't you go ahead and tell me just how many Team Rocket projects you've screwed over since I left?" Petrel had been readying a scathing remark, but that died in his throat, and he found his eyes widening. He stammered slightly, and Alex snickered at that. "Oh, quit with that goody-two-shoes Rocket act, Lambda. I don't think _anyone_ in this room is buying it."

"Joke's on you," Proton managed to grunt out, "Petrel's the best motherfuckin' Rocket in the team, he'd never do _anything_ to-"

"Three." Alex cast an amused gaze to Proton, who seemed rather taken aback by that statement.

"He puts too much faith in you," the traitor said slyly. Petrel lowered his head.

"I know," he whispered, "I told him that, too. Way too much faith... way too much..."

"Stop fuckin' with me," Proton growled. "Fuckin' _stop_. Petrel would never do anythin' to jeopardize the Team, he fuckin' _lives_ by the handbook. You're a motherfuckin' _ liar_, Alex!"

"He said it, not me," Alex disagreed. "Go on, babe. Tell him. Tell him what a _good_ little traitor you are."

"I'm not a traitor!" Petrel denied. "I slowed up some projects, but I'm not a traitor, I'm a loyal-!"

"If you're not a traitor, explain these." The traitor drew something from within his blazer and tossed it to the table, allowing for Petrel to get a good, long look at what he'd hoped would never come back to bite him in the ass. Everything bad really _was_ happening today, it seemed. "Letters! From you to the agent in charge, here- I think you _may_ have expected it was me, but I didn't go and wear my heart on my sleeve like you did. About three years ago you were attempting to bargain for your own freedom by offering up information about the Team."

"Petrel, what the hell's he talking about?!" Petrel closed his eyes, blocking both of them out. It wasn't worth it. Proton would never believe Alex, as long as he didn't say anything to further incriminate himself.

"After some minor information was exchanged to prove your reliability, correspondence began to establish a place and time for us to 'arrest' you and bring you in for questioning, where you would spill your heart out to us and in return, get five years for something completely minor and have any and all dealings with Team Rocket wiped from your records. I was planning on getting you out on good behavior and letting you move back in with me-"

"Petrel, tell me he's lying. He's lying, isn't he? Those are fake. Those _have_ to be fake."

"-but something happened, and all of a sudden we stopped getting your letters. I wondered what had happened, but I think I see, now. How long will this one last before you toss him aside, hm? Hopefully not longer than me- I was your friend for _years_ before you started fucking me, after all. If some street rattata outlasts _me_, then..."

"_Petrel._" The desperation invading Proton's voice hurt. It hurt bad. He didn't want to do this, right now. He didn't want to do this, ever. He thought it had been behind him. Each and every moment h'ed spent in Proton's presence, he thought he'd left it behind him- hell, Archer had even taken it easy on him during his punishment all those months ago in the U, he'd been absolutely _convinced_ it was over. "Petrel, _please_. Please, tell me he's lying." He opened his eyes to meet Proton's dilated, unfocused gaze.

"Go on," Alex hissed, "tell him."

"...It's true, Pro. It's all true." He swallowed, hard, and continued, voice shaking terribly. "The first project- the Mewtwo Project- I screwed with the safety procedures in the computer, weakened the response, let him get away. The second project- my own project. I could have completed the serum years ago. I could have finished it and moved on. The th-third project..." His voice broke slightly. "The third project... your project... Archer was close to getting the information you needed from your father. I had a hunch you would kill him if I could get you in there, and when you ran into a dead-end, it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up... Pro..." He wasn't crying. He wasn't crying. He wasn't crying. "Pro, I am so, so sorry..."

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Alex mocked. "It looks like you've done far more damage to this poor sap than I ever could. I think I'll take my lunch break and give it some time to sink in- and let those chemicals work their magic on your little toy, there. Slim, keep an eye on them. I'll be back in a couple hours."

"You know I have to tell Archer when we get back," Proton mumured.

"He knows," Petrel replied, "he already knows. He already took care of my punishment. You almost died because of it." Proton opened one eye and scowled at him before quickly shutting it.

"How many times have you lied to me?"

"Pro-"

"_How many_?" Petrel sighed.

"I wasn't lying about us, if that's what you're asking."

"I don't even know what that's suppose mean, now. From what that fuckin' traitor was saying, it sounds like you're just havin' some fun."

"That's not true, and you know it."

"Oh? Then tell me, when was the last time you actually called it a relationship? 'Cause as far as I've heard, you've just been saying we're sleeping together. Those don't mean the same thing, P. We've never even had an actual date."

"That can change. We can go out for dinner in Kanto, or something- whatever you want. I promise."

"Like that means anything, now." Petrel sighed heavily.

"Look," he said, "I've done things I'm not proud of, and yes, I was going to turncoat and go the IP. But then you came along, and... well, y'know, things changed. You heard him, yourself, I stopped sending letters."

"You screwed over my research."

"It was temporary. You got the files from Silph- you even used them to finish that darkball you were working on."

"You're still an ass..." Proton's speech was starting to slur, and he was beginning to mumble. The chemicals were really starting to set in. Petrel frowned. He needed to get his sweetheart out of there, before Alex came back and decided he _was_ enough of a jealous bitch to stick him with the third needle- undoubtedly filled with potassium chloride, which, in combination with the previous two chemicals, would stop Proton's heart entirely. He wasn't about to let that happen.

"Slim," he said, and the dark-ghost perked up and scampered over to him, grinning and baring its tiny, sharp teeth. "Hey, buddy. Do me a favor and go get our stuff, then come back and let us up, okay?" The sableye paused and tilted its head, thinking the order over- Alex had only told him to watch them, not to keep them there. With a nod, he scampered off and out the door. Petrel couldn't help but grin, himself. "Little rascal and his shenanigans. I'm so glad he's got and impish nature."

"Your _mom_ has an impish nature...," Proton mumbled. Petrel rolled his eyes.

Slim returned maybe about five to ten minutes later, dragging with him a bag full of stuff, which it dropped next to Petrel's chair before slicing neatly through his handcuffs. Petrel rubbed his wrists and stood, directing the dark-ghost to do the same for Proton, and while Slim set on that, he busied himself with changing back into his uniform and letting Monoxide out.

This would prove to be interesting.

* * *

"Where _are_ they?" Archer grumbled as he peered out of his window and out onto the grounds. "They _should_ have been back, by now..."

"I wouldn't worry," Ariana said from her perch on her brother's desk. She was busy giving herself a manicure, and though Archer generally hated the smell of _everything_ she used to do it, he never really bothered her about it. "Knowing them, they probably stopped to get lunch and forgot they had a deadline. Or, even better, they may have stopped in Ilex to satisfy their libidos. It must be tough, being in such a new relationship and having to take care of the Boss's kid at the same time."

"If they _seriously_ stopped to fuck each other during _work hours_, I'm going to be pissed," Archer grumbled. He turned away from the window to go pull his rolley chair over by his houndoom, Coyote, and proceeded to give the dark-type much affection in the form of tummy rubs and ear scratches. "This would be the fifth time. They need to keep it together, we have a mission."

"Oh, cut them some slack," Ariana laughed. "Especially Proton. You've been on his ass since day one, all because he knew Giovanni personally."

"No, because he was being an ungrateful sunovabitch," the bluenette 'corrected'. "Don't give me that look, Ariana. That's all it was." Ariana only shook her head in reply, eyes dancing in mirth. The twins were silent for a few minutes then, simply enjoying each other's company, when all of a sudden the door opened and one very tired-looking Petrel came in with Monoxide trailing behind him and one very out of it Proton slung over his shoulder.

"I hate you forever," the purple executive announced. "Mission report: we got arrested, Proton got chem torture, my ex is a traitorous piece of shit, and here's the cash and junk you wanted." So saying, he plopped a bag of stuff on the desk next to Ariana. The twin executives stared at it silently for a moment before glancing up at Petrel. Petrel stared right back, unblinking.

"_Pettreeeelll,_" Proton whined, "_Pettrreeelll, Slenderman's still following ussss..._"

"...The hell happened to _him_?" Archer asked at last.

"I told you," Petrel grumbled, "he got chem torture. Tubocurarine and quinuclidinyl benzilate. He's going to be out of it for the next couple days, not to mention he broke his leg pretty bad. I'm going to take time off to make sure he recovers okay, so please don't slate either of us for anything, alright? I'm going to head back to our apartment, now."

"_Peettreeellll, can we go to the moooooon?_"

"We're going right now, sweetheart." Petrel shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry for the delay. I'll see you guys in a few days." Without another word (well, Proton was still whining and slurring insults at the taller executive), Petrel turned on his heel and left.

"I understood very little of what just happened," Archer said after a moment in which he and his sister stared silently at the door, "but, hey, they got us the money and the supplies, so as far as I'm concerned, we're golden."

"Just another day in the life of the Executives," Ariana snickered.

* * *

**I'm sleepy. Also, Numb3rs. Yeah.**


	22. Mareep Medicine

Disclaimer: By Grabthar's hammer, by the suns of Warvan, you _shall_ be disclaimed!

_Warning: There will be fluff. Prepare yourselves._

Everything was fuzzy- his mind, his vision, his body, _everything_. Proton wasn't sure what to make of it all, as only moment before, it had felt as though he'd been floating down a relaxing river of marshmallow clouds. That must have been it, he thought vaguely, the marshmallow clouds were really mareep. He needed to pay more attention to marshmallow clouds, they were ridiculously sneaky. Like ninjas. Like Petrel. Petrel was a ninja. Did that make Petrel a marshmallow cloud? But if the marshmallow clouds were actually mareep, that would make Petrel a mareep, and Proton wasn't sure if he was comfortable being in a relationship with a pokemon. He hoped Petrel wasn't a marshmallow cloud. Maybe he should check. Hopefully, Slenderman had gone home, by now.

Proton felt himself sigh slightly as he let his head flop to the side. There was Petrel, just as always, his arms draped around Proton's torso as he curled up against him. Something was tickling his cheek, something soft, and he was convinced Petrel _was_ a mareep for all of ten seconds before he realized, with a feeling of relief, that it was merely his lover's goatee. Thanking both Ho-Oh and Lugia in his head, Proton loosed another sigh, a contented one, and tried to turn and snuggle into Petrel's chest, but something was inhibiting him, and he frowned. That was weird. He was usually able to turn pretty well. It was something he was good at- did they have professional turning competitions? He bet they did. He should look into those, because seriously, if there was something he was fucking amazing at, it was turning. With a frown, he sat up slightly and pushed back the sheets (he had to keep an eye on those, he noted, sheets were notorious gangsters that worked for the marshmallow clouds), frowning as he searched for the source of his un-turn-y-ness.

There was something on his leg.

Oh, fuck. _There was something on his leg_.

With a panic, he flinched and leaned forward, trying to figure out what it was, before he reached out to slap the 'on' switch on their lamp, revealing something white attempting to swallow his leg whole. _Fuck_. Petrel wasn't the one who was a marshmallow cloud, it was him all along!

"_Fuck_...," he swore. Frantically, he tried to pry the marshmallow clouds off of his leg (they were far more sturdy than he initially thought), tugging until he lost his grip and accidentally hit Petrel, who snorted mid-snore and stirred.

"...Pro?" he heard his lover ask after a moment, "'s three in the morning... What are you doing up?" Proton winced. Petrel couldn't see him, like this! If he knew Proton was turning into a mareep, then... then... _terrible, terrible_ things would happen! He had to keep him from seeing!

"'S nothin'," he slurred in reply. "N-nothin'... Sleep..." He felt Petrel shift next to him, and frantically he threw the sheets back over his doomed leg.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Petrel asked, nuzzling his neck. "It's okay... you can tell me..." Proton felt his eyes sting with tears, and before he could stop himself, he turned and threw his arms around the purple executive, burying his face in his shoulder and explaining his dilemma, ignoring the fact that it came out both slurred and muffled, this time. He felt better just having Petrel gently stroke his hair, and he almost thought everything was going to be okay when he realized that enjoying being petted was obviously a sign that he really _was_ turning into a mareep. "You're gonna have to speak louder, Lance, sweetheart. I didn't hear a word of what you just said." With a shuddering breath, Proton stared up at Petrel's swaying, wavering figure, and tried again.

"I'm turning into a _mareep_!" He waited for Petrel to start freaking out, because this was exactly the kind of thing he would freak out about, but when he didn't, Proton frowned deeply.

"..._What_?" Petrel said at last.

"I'm turning into a mareep!" Proton replied. He pushed the sheets back and showed him the marshmallow cloud that was still trying to digest his legs. "See?! The marshmallow cloud's got me and I'm gonna be a mareep!"

"Maybe it'd be fun to be a mareep," Petrel said tiredly. Proton couldn't help but pout.

"But if I 's a mareep, I'd have to live outside and find a mareep girlfriend and have mareep babies and then I couldn't sleep up here with you, anymore," he whined. "I don't _like_ grass."

"Are you sure that's a marshmallow cloud...?" He nodded vigorously.

"I can feel it eating my leg... it's itchy..." Petrel sighed exasperatedly and got out of bed. "Don't leave me... I don't _wanna_ be a mareep..."

"I'll be right back," he promised, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Just sit tight, okay? It takes time to turn into a mareep, it won't happen overnight." He left the room- Proton wasn't sure how, since it was shaking and shifting so badly- and went somewhere else. Maybe the kitchen, or something, Proton was sure he saw the light turn on there. He wondered, idly, why Petrel went into the kitchen, because there weren't any bass cannons in the kitchen, and everyone knew that the only way to kill marshmallow clouds was by using a bass cannon. He didn't think they had a bass cannon, anyways.

Maybe Petrel was getting a pokeball? He didn't know what the pokeballs were doing in the kitchen, but it occurred to him that, if his counterpart was indeed getting one, it would be because he wanted to catch Proton once he turned into a mareep. At first, the thought kind of scared him- he wasn't sure if he wanted to live in a pokeball, they were kind of small. But as he thought it over, he came to the conclusion that he wouldn't really mind being Petrel's mareep. Petrel treated his koffing very well and fed it weed on a regular basis. He could handle that. He wouldn't have to get a mareep girlfriend, after all, and maybe Petrel would even let him sleep on the foot of the bed. Then he'd fight other pokemon, enjoy senseless violence, get stronger, and evolve into the most badass fuckin' ampharos in the motherfuckin' _world_. It sounded like a good plan.

"Izzat a pok'ball?" he slurred when Petrel finally came back in. "If you're gonna put me in a pok'ball I wanna be in a darkball, they're cool..."

"No," Petrel chuckled, "it's not a pokeball. It's medicine. C'mon, sit up..." Oh, he'd laid down? He didn't remember laying down. Maybe he was starting to become quadrupedal. He wondered when he would get a tail. Having a tail would be fun.

"Mareep medicine...?" Again, Petrel laughed, and he felt him scruffle his hair.

"You could call it that," the elder executive replied, amused. "It'll fight the marshmallow cloud virus so you won't turn into a mareep. Now, open wide..." He did as requested, and Petrel shoved a spoonful of something nasty into his mouth; he almost spat it back out, too. "_Swallow it_, sweetheart." With a grimace, he did so, though he couldn't help but giggle as he mused on all the previous times Petrel had said that to him in this bed. "Yes, yes, yes, sex jokes, _teehee_, now go to sleep, alright? I'll see you in the morning."

"'Kay." He flopped back down and waited for Petrel to slide back under the covers before he snuggled against him as best he could, resting his head on the purple executive's shoulder. "'Night, Petrel..." He was feeling drowsy, all of a sudden, and he yawned. "Love you..." As he drifted off, he felt strong, warm arms wrap protectively around him, and heard the quiet 'love you, too' ringing in his ears. This, truly, was comfort.

Not even a tail could replace it.

* * *

Light, strong and blinding, filtered into the room and onto his face, and as Proton's eyes opened slightly to greet it, he grimaced and let out a low groan. He felt completely worn out, his head was _pounding_, and the last thing he could even vaguely remember was Petrel slinging him over his shoulder and bolting. Everything after that was too fuzzy- some things before that, too, and he had to sit there and think for a little while before he remembered what had happened. They'd been arrested, he'd seen his mother, Petrel's ex turned out to be a traitor, and... The memory brought back a heavy sinking feeling. He would never have believed Petrel to have been such a Lugiadamn _liar_ if he hadn't seen the evidence for himself. Then again, he mused, he never really was able to _focus_ on the evidence, at the time, so could he really even believe _that_?

He glanced up as the door to the bedroom opened and Petrel came in with a TV tray covered in food, shutting it behind him with his foot. He grinned upon seeing Proton awake, and Proton stared neutrally back at him.

"There's my little mareep," Petrel said as he set the TV tray down. "I was worried you weren't going to wake up the rest of the day. How's your leg?" When Proton didn't reply, his grin faltered, and he shifted awkwardly. "Er... let's take a look, then, huh?" He took the greenette's silence as a 'yes', it seemed, as he wasted no time in pulling the covers back and squatting to look at the cast. "Ah, it's not holding up. Now that you're awake, though, we can head down to my office and I can reset it for you, right after you get a shower. Before that, though, here, have some brunch!" He turned and brought the tv tray over to the bed, handing it gently to Proton before pulling around his rolley chair and sitting on it backwards so he could rest his head on the back.

Proton refused to speak to him, even if he _did_ make him food. He continued to stare, completely unamused, until he saw Petrel begin to fidget uncomfortably. Without a single word, he turned his attention to the food. It was a kind gesture, he thought, especially since it included several of his favorites he'd been certain they were out of- namely, blackberries and slowpoke tail. The blackberries, okay, yeah, _maybe_ he could have seen those coming, but the slowpoke tail? Never in a million years.

"...How'd you cook it?" He cursed himself for breaking his own promise to himself- the promise to never forgive Petrel or talk to him ever again _ever_- but he couldn't help but be curious. Petrel shrugged one shoulder at him.

"I tried to do it like you do," he mumbled, "sauté it and everything. I'm not sure if I cooked it all the way, but I threw in some maple syrup for good measure, thought you could use some sugar in your system. Try it?" At his insistence, Proton hesitantly reached for the fork, speared a moderately sized piece, and took a bite. It tasted fucking _amazing_. He scowled slightly as he chewed. This wasn't fucking fair. If it'd been horrible he would have had a reason to keep ignoring Petrel, dammit.

"It's pretty good," he admitted grudgingly. "Want some?" Petrel shook his head, and Proton sighed before continuing to eat. They remained that way, the room silent save for the occasional clanking of the fork, until Proton had cleaned the plate entirely of edibles. Once he was finished, he placed the tray to the side, swung his legs out of bed, and attempted to stand; Petrel was quickly at his side, giving him a questioning glance as he adjusted his weight distribution.

"Where are we going?" the taller man asked. Proton jerked his head towards their bathroom.

"Shower," he answered. "I feel completely filthy. Did you have to trek through mud to get back here, or something?" Petrel snorted as he helped him limp around into the bathroom.

"Nah," he said, "but you've been in and out for almost four days, now. Scared the shit out of me half the time, your heart rate got so low."

"Four _days_?" Proton repeated incredulously. "Shit, man! How the hell was I out for _four days_?"

"That drug cocktail Alex shot you up with," Petrel explained. "The combined effects can take up to ninety hours to run its full course. Some of it was funny, though, like last night. You were convinced your cast was going to turn you into a mareep." Proton snorted.

"So that's why you called me that. I was wondering." They paused when they got to the shower, and Proton frowned down at the torn orange jumpsuit he was wearing. "...How the fuck am I going to get this off?"

"I'll help, don't worry." The struggle to get the jumpsuit off was almost not worth the effort it took, especially with how careful they had to be around his shoddy cast, but eventually, Proton was free from the restraints of clothing, and Petrel helped him step into the shower before sitting on the toilet lid.

"So did I say anything else?" The water was hot and soothing, and Proton felt muscles he hadn't even realized were sore relax as he simply allowed the torrent to pour down onto him.

"Like what?"

"I dunno. Maybe something about how fuckin' upset I am with you right now?"

"No, not really. Half of the time I couldn't understand a single thing you were saying, but once I convinced you I was Giovanni."

"Ha. How'd that go?"

"It was hilarious, actually. You kept asking me if I was fucking Archer."

"What'd you tell me?"

"Yes, of course. Let's be honest, here, the chances of me being right are actually pretty high, knowing Archer." That caused Proton to laugh outright. He searched around for a moment before he frowned and poked his head around the shower curtain.

"Hey, where the fuck's my loofa?"

"That girly-ass thing? Here." Petrel grabbed it from the sink and tossed it to him. "Besides that, though, mostly you were just clingy. Like, super _super_ clingy. You kept whining whenever I left you alone for more than a few minutes."

"That must have been annoying."

"Nah, I thought it was kind of cute. Made me feel like you really needed me, I guess."

"So, I was a cute, clingy mareep? Fuck. There goes my reputation."

"Nah, we killed that a long time ago, remember?"

"Mm. You don't have to sit in here with me. I'm perfectly capable of bathing myself, you know."

"I know. If you fall over, though, I'll actually be able to help you."

"I guess that's the nice part of sleeping with a guy who has such a good bedside manner."

"Is that all it is?"

"That's all you're fuckin' tellin' people it is."

"It's not what you were saying, last night."

"Oh? Enlighten me of what I said while I was completely stoned, then."

"You said you loved me." Proton was very glad he wasn't drinking anything at the moment, because he was quite certain that, if he was, he'd have sprayed whatever he was drinking out everywhere. Eyes wide, he peeked around the curtain again to see Petrel's anticipated expression.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, "_what_?"

"You said you loved me," Petrel repeated. "I gave you some lemon juice and told you it was mareep medicine, and you told me you loved me." Proton frowned before hiding behind the curtain once more and continuing to wash himself.

"...I was high. You can't count it."

"Alright. Then say it again."

"The hell would I do that for?!" He felt his face heat up, but he was certain it was just because of the hot water (warm, now, actually, it was kind of losing its edge) and tried to ignore it. Of course, he could no longer deny the fact that he was blushing furiously when Petrel decided to lean in and give him that 'don't fuck with me' expression. "F-fuck! P, I'm fuckin' _showerin'!_"

"Yeah, yeah, penis, I've seen it before," Petrel dismissed easily. "Look, sweetheart, you're the one who started complaining about how we're not going on dates or doing any of that fluffy shit. You want that to happen, you gotta say it."

"_Get your fuckin' head out of the lugiadamned shower, Petrel._" Petrel rolled his eyes, but complied, and Proton made sure to keep his eyes on his silhouette as he began rinsing himself off.

"All I'm saying," the purple executive continued, "is that I'm not the only one treating this like some casual fling. If you want things to change, it's gotta start somewhere, and it might as well be you. All you gotta do is say the word, and we go exclusive, alright?" Proton didn't reply; he merely turned the water off and attempted to wring out as much of his hair as he could before reaching out and groping for a towel, which Petrel handed to him. "Well?"

"'Well' _what_?!"

"What's your verdict, Lance?"

"Alright, two things: _one_, I'm still fuckin' upset with you." He wrapped the towel firmly around his waist and pulled the curtain back, waiting patiently as Petrel got up to help him out.

"What's two, then?" Proton remained silent as they returned to the bedroom, but as always, Petrel waited him out.

"...Saturday's date night. _That's_ two." Petrel smirked.

"You didn't say it."

"I fuckin' decided when date night was going to be, how is that not sayin' it?"

"You have to say it or we can't have date night."

"No fuckin' way, asshole. Go on, keep pesterin' me, see what happens."

Petrel's smirk broadened, and Proton eyed him wearily and crossed his arms. Before he could react, the taller man pulled him close, tilted his head back, and kissed him. After a moment, he thought, what the hell, and moved his lips against Petrel's, kissing him back. He felt Petrel's hands grip his waist and push, slightly, backing him up until they hit the bed and toppled over, only breaking apart for air once they landed.

"Save yourself the time and just say it," came the hot whisper in his ear.

"Fuckin' _make me_," Proton growled. Petrel laughed.

"That, sweetheart, can be arranged."

* * *

If he'd been worn out, before, he was completely _exhausted_, now, Proton mused as his chest heaved with exertion. Lazily, he turned his head to look at Petrel, who was laying back in a similar state with his eyes closed and a slight wheeze in his breath.

"I think you're more tired than _I_ am," he laughed, reaching out to toy with the man's brilliant purple hair. "How's your back, babe?"

"Fucking _hurts_," Petrel gasped. "Totally worth it, though." He swallowed thickly to wet his throat and opened his eyes to smile serenely at Proton. "Now will you say it? Or do we have to do it again?"

"Nah, I don't think I could take much more of _that_, today." Proton shook his head and scooted over to nestle down against him. "...I love you, Petrel." Petrel closed his eyes again as his smile stretched into a grin.

"I love you, too, Proton," he sighed. "Now all we need to do is get you a new cast, and we're set for the day. How's the leg doing?" Proton cast a glance down at it and shrugged.

"It's throbbing a little," he said, "and it still itches like hell."

"Let's get us cleaned up, and then we'll head down and I'll see what I can do about it," Petrel said. With a grimace, he sat up, and Proton helped him brace himself for a moment. "I'll take a hop in the shower, then I'll come back to help you out, alright?" Proton nodded and watched as he wandered off.

He felt... _calm_, for once, he realized as he heard the shower start up. Happy, in fact, not just mellow like when he practiced those anger management techniques Petrel forced on him. It was nice to know he was wanted, and even nicer to know that it seemed Petrel was going to keep him around for the foreseeable future- they _had_ bought a house together, after all. Fuckin' take _that_, Alex. He wasn't even all that upset with the purple-haired executive, any more- okay, yeah, he was still kinda pissed about the whole project sabotaging thing, but he supposed he _did_ get the darkball finished before it had to be put on hold, so really, there wasn't much harm done, and Petrel having to look after him all doped up for four days was probably punishment, enough.

In fact, Proton thought, he was so fuckin' happy he could kill something. There was only three days until Wednesday, after all.

* * *

**I warned you.**


	23. Crushed Dreams

Disclaimer: I was wandering through the outskirts of the Internet, rambling through the avenues of fanfiction, when from nowhere my eyes fell unto a disclaimer, and by chance its eyes fell onto this chapter.

It was a nice day. The sky was a brilliant blue, with a few puffy white clouds here and there; a pleasant breeze blew through the city, cool enough to be comfortable but not freezing to the point where Petrel had to wear more than a light jacket over his civvie clothes. Goldenrod was positively bustling, people rushing to get to stores and prior engagements, some walking briskly and others calling cabs. They were fun to watch, mostly, until a few pidgey pecking for crumbs nearby took off and headed to land in a small tree nearby. With his usual serene smile, the executive took a sip of his melon-infused water and leaned back into his metal chair comfortably.

"It's ridiculously busy, today," Ariana said, poking at her iced tea with her straw. For once, her insistence for Petrel to go shopping with her had fallen around a good time, when Petrel actually needed to go out and get Proton a little gift for his birthday, and so he'd agreed on the condition they stop at one of the nicer cafes for lunch. "Not just here, either. I'm surprised Archer even let us have the day off."

"Yeah," Petrel agreed, "he's been pretty chill, lately. I'm kinda proud of him, y'know, he was always so uptight, as long as I've known you guys. No offense, of course."

"None taken," Ariana laughed, "he was always a bit of a stick in the mud, I can admit it. I remember when we first joined, he'd never let me out of his sight... At least he didn't make your father pay us _both_ for babysitting you."

"I still resent being babysitted," Petrel sniffed, "I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Because you did _such_ a good job of it when you were sixteen," Ariana snorted. Petrel scowled half-heartedly at her.

"Oh, that was _low_, Ari. No one could have seen that coming."

"What ever happened, anyways?" she asked. "I mean, I kind of heard, but Archer and I had already been transferred here by then..." Petrel was about to reply when the waitress came by with their food, and they quickly ceased their conversation and waited until she was long gone before continuing.

"I'm not really sure if I wanna talk about that," the purple executive sighed, "too many painful memories. How about something else?"

"Alright," the ginger agreed easily, "how about you tell me why you transferred to the Medical Department, then? I know you were meaning to go into Espionage when you were a kid."

"I'm just not going to escape it, am I?" She laughed, and Petrel chuckled, as well.

"Ah, I didn't realize they were the same. Alright, let's change the subject, then-" He shook his head and cut her off, there.

"No," he said, "no, if you really wanna know, I'll tell you. I mean, it's not particularly long, or anything, I just hate thinking about it. But I guess you guys were worried when you heard?" Ariana nodded but didn't speak, leaning forward slightly with wide, attentive eyes. Petrel sighed once more and launched into his story.

* * *

"Hey, Lambda! _Bitch,_ I'm talking to you!" With a blink, the purple-haired teenager looked up from his handbook, glancing over his shoulder to see a certain orange-haired boy grinning at him. It hadn't been that long since they'd seen each other- in fact, they were in the same training group before lunch, for the Espionage gen ed, and tended to partner up with each other on every single project they were given _ever_. Most of the time they barely got it done, but really, that wasn't so surprising- they'd been friends for longer than either of the two could remember, and lived right down the hall from each other.

"Big words coming from the sub," Lambda replied curtly, marking his page before closing it and grinning. "Hey, Alex. How was the rest of your training, today?"

"Eh, nothing too exciting," Alex said, shrugging. "We got put into teams and had to run the obstacle course. Mine got the best time, but I'd have been pissed if we didn't. We were on the baby course, man, whoever came in last shamed themselves." The mohawked boy laughed at that.

"You mean the course we used to run when we were, like, _seven_?" he asked. "Fuck that, man, if you'd come in last I'd have _disowned_ your ass." Alex gave him that cute, pouty look he found absolutely irresistible, and idly he wondered if his old man was still home.

"You wouldn't do that. You love me too Lugiadamn much. How was your training, babe?" Lambda grimaced slightly and shook his head.

"Tox resistance," he sighed, "it was hell. But, hey, I finished the anesthesia track, so now it's just this, truth serum, and generic chem torture, and I get to move on to advanced pain tolerance." Alex's eyebrows rose significantly.

"I heard they break your kneecaps in that one," he said, "you have guts. All you guys in the Assassin Track are fuckin' _crazy_. So, hey, anyways, I was wondering..."

"I'm listening."

"... You free over the weekend? Uhm... my parents are going out with their team for some big legend-hunt, or something, they're gonna be gone for a few weeks, and I thought maybe you'd want to spend some time together... y'know... alone...?" Slowly, Lambda smirked, and he advanced, closing the distance between them.

"Oh?" he purred, "alone, you say? Why, I couldn't _begin_ to fathom you'd want us to be alone..." Alex steadily began blushing, and though he tried to retreat, Lambda matched each and every step of his until he'd pinned the smaller trainee to the wall, leaning down slightly to whisper into his ear. "Well, my dear, it _just so happens_ my father's going to Johto for the weekend. You'll have me _all_ to yourself for _three entire nights_. How does that sound, hmm?"

"Lambda," Alex whined, "not in the hallway, dammit...!

"There's no one around," he replied, nibbling at his ear, "don't worry, alright...?"

"_Lambda_, I'm warning you..." With a laugh, the taller pulled away and ruffled the shorter's hair affectionately, throwing one arm around his shoulder.

"I'm being serious, though," he continued, "come hang out for a while before Dad leaves, if we're pathetic enough maybe he'll give us some cash to go out for dinner."

"Ah, speaking of that!" Alex smiled and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a pair of cheap lanyards with some sort of card stock on the inside. "Look! My mom got these for us- there's a carnival in Vermilion, and they were selling unlimited ride passes! Wanna go? I hear they have one of those hurl-a-whirls, or whatever the hell they're called."

"Carnival, huh?" Lambda blinked and peered at the tickets curiously. "And you said it was in Vermilion? Sounds like fun. My car's broken again, though. Can you drive?"

"Sure, sure!" Alex nodded and his smile broadened. He latched onto Lambda's arm and slid one of the lanyards into the purple trainee's pocket, touching a little more than was actually necessary, and the two turned and headed off down the hallway, chatting about whatever random things popped into their heads until they came to a stop outside of Lambda's apartment, and he fished around for his keys for a moment before they were able to enter.

"Dad, I'm home!" he called as he and Alex removed their boots by the door.

"Welcome back!" his father called from the bathroom. "Let me guess- your boyfriend's here, too."

"Hi, Mr. Orpheon, sir," Alex greeted, and Hunter snorted as he came out holding a plethora of baggies with varying toiletries in them.

"If you two decide to fool around in here, stay off the couch. Viper and I have to sit there, too." Lambda laughed.

"C'mon, Dad, we know the rules, by now. Either way, we're going to be staying over at Alex's, his parents are gone for a while."

"Mm. Make sure to check in on your brother from time to time, then, Mew knows what sort of trouble he'll get himself in to if you don't keep your eyes on him. You kids need anything before I shove off?"

"Actually, we were planning on heading to Vermilion for the carnival, there, but I'm kind of broke... Dinner money...?" Hunter snorted and proceeded into his bedroom to get his suitcase.

"What, don't they pay you at that pansy job of yours?"

"I'm a trainee, so, no. I get to mooch off of you until I graduate. Dinner money?"

"Alright, alright, settle down..." The admin set his bag down by the door and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, handing Lambda a couple of twenties. "If I find out either of you went out in your uniforms, and there's gonna be blood sacrifice when I get home. Got it? I'll see you Monday." There was a quick exchange of hugs, and once Hunter left, Lambda and Alex proceeded to spend a little time cuddling on the couch before heading into the bedroom Lambda shared with his little brother and changing into some civvie clothes. From there, they headed down to the service station to see if, somehow, miraculously, the purple trainee's car was fixed, and when it wasn't, they resigned themselves to hopping onto Alex's shiny blue moped. Really, Lambda thought, clinging tightly to Alex's waist as they headed off into town, his boyfriend's parents had a sick sense of humor to get him one instead of some old junkie car. At least you could make an old junkie car look cool, if you played it right; mopeds just made you look awkward. It was like a motorcycle's annoying younger brother, and Lambda knew enough about annoying younger brothers to feel bad for motorcycles. He was certain that if it was possible, motorcycles would take any chance they could to give mopeds wedgies.

They stopped in Celadon for dinner at one of their more favored cafes, where everything was drowned in grease, the waitresses rolled around on skates, and the jukebox was filled with all sorts of old-timey nineteen-forties music that they could sing along to. It was usually relatively quiet, and no one there ever payed them much mind; any hand-holding, longer-than-friendly hugs, or bashful kisses were either not seen or ignored all together, making the atmosphere rather comfortable for the two. After they'd finished off their burgers and fries, and once they'd completely drained their milkshakes dry, they payed and went on their merry way.

"Jeez, you sit on this thing so awkwardly," Alex laughed as they once more mounted the moped. "I know your dad drilled that perfect posture into you, babe, but _relax_ a little. You won't be very comfortable sitting up _that straight_ on this thing."

"I'm _fine_," Lambda disagreed, "it's the fucking moped. These things have such poor fucking designs, and they were _not_ made for two people." Alex shook his head and turned on the engine and headlight, knocking the kickstand back and pulling out into the street. Despite the uncomfortable vehicle, the drive was relaxing and pleasant, going down familiar streets that they often ran through late in the night to break into any stores they felt like. They simply cruised along- there was no real hurry, after all, and Vermilion always looked nicer in the later hours.

"I'm surprised there aren't more people on the road, tonight!" Alex called over the wind whipping passed them.

"I know, right?" Lambda called back. "I mean, it's barely eight! Hey, when does the carnival close for the night?"

"Night staff!" They came to a stop at a red light, and Lambda frowned as he tried to muss his hair back into place. "They don't close for a while, weekend and all. Also, I can't feel my face. It's _cold_."

"Haha... yeah, me, too. Hey, green light, let's go." As Alex hit the gas, Lambda realized there was another reason he didn't like the moped- its acceleration was _crap_, especially with the two of them on it. He frowned slightly as they set off, slowly gaining speed, and was so busy wishing death on the stupid thing he almost missed the blinding lights heading straight for them- almost.

What seemed to be an eternity was, in reality, only a few seconds, and all Lambda registered was that those headlights _weren't slowing down_, and he grabbed Alex by the collar and threw him off the back of the moped, hopefully to safety. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the impact. He wasn't disappointed. The force sent both him and the moped sprawling to the ground, and there were cracks and snaps and pain, and _oh Mew, the PAIN_. His jacket caught on something as the truck continued, dragging him along with it for a brief second before the screeching of tires and the larger vehicle's sudden stop. Vaguely, Lambda heard Alex screaming his name some distance away, and he groaned, trying to make himself stand up. He had to make sure Alex was okay. He _had to. _

"Shit! Kid- kid, are you okay?!" came the stranger's voice. Lambda merely groaned again, trying to push through the dizziness in his mind to figure out what was going on- well, he didn't actually _try_, it was kind of automatic. To be awake and aware at every moment; that was what he was trained for. He sorely wished he hadn't been (pun not intended, of course). He was aware of every last injury on his body: every broken bone, every fracture, every bruise and break in the skin, and the pain was simply unbearable.

"Lambda- _Lambda_! Oh, Lugia, _Lambda_!" Alex was standing over him now, eyes wide and face pale as though he'd seen a gengar. For a moment, Lambda's injuries were forgotten as his eyes flicked over his boyfriend's form, trying to make sure he was alright, and when he saw nothing more than a few scraps, he smiled.

"_A-Al...ex...,_" he managed to say. "_You're... o-okay..._" With every word, pain shot through his jaw. Oh, wonderful, he found himself thinking, a jaw fracture. Just what he needed. Alex looked about ready to cry, and he kneeled down next to him.

"Sh-shit, Lambda, oh Lugia... Hold on, Lambda, please, hold on..." In the background, he heard the stranger calling an ambulance. That wouldn't be good. An ambulance would mean a civvie hospital, and a civvie hospital would mean awkward questions that would more or less likely end with the cops becoming involved, and injured or not, that was something Lambda didn't want. He tried to voice his concerns to Alex, but his boyfriend simply shushed him and told him not to hurt himself any more, and when he had tried to argue, he had shifted the tiniest bit, causing his vision to go white and a howl of agony to tear loose from his throat.

It took almost five minutes for the ambulance to get to them- he counted each and every second until it did. The paramedics were astounded by the fact that he was still conscious, kept saying it was probably a good sign, and that they were going to put him under on the way to the hospital. He barely processed Alex fighting to be allowed to ride with him, barely noticed the hand tightly clenching his own, barely noticed the needle shoved into his arm and the cold feeling invading his bloodstream. It wouldn't matter, anyways- it wouldn't end the pain. Nothing would. Every movement he made, purposefully or otherwise, ended in screams or whimpers from him, tears and hair-stroking from Alex, and the bafflement of the paramedics, who refused to give him more anesthesia for the fear of overdosing and ending his life. It would have been merciful for them to, Lambda mused as they turned onto a particularly bumpy street.

He'd never been into a civvie ER, before, and though all he really saw was the ceiling, it seemed pretty nice, overall. They rushed him through quickly into one of the rooms, an entire ER team surrounding him as they cut away his clothes so they could accurately tend to his wounds.

"He's still awake?" one of the doctors exclaimed, quite confused. "Shit... something's up, no _normal_ person could stay conscious through all of this... Someone go talk to that kid that rode with him, figure out what the hell's going on." Lambda squeezed his eyes shut as they continued to bustle around the room, trying to ignore them, trying to ignore the pain.

"_Morphine_," he heard himself groan. "_F-fuu... p-please... Oh, Mew... __**please**__..._"

"...Give him twenty em-gees, no more. We can't risk more than that." Another needle, another cold sensation, and for a split second Lambda was able to relax, able to close his eyes; the next thing he knew, bones were being shoved into place, and another howl erupted from his throat. He tried to move, tried to pull away from their hands, but that just made it hurt worse, and they tried to hold him down so he wouldn't hurt himself more, and the cycle would go on and on and on for what felt like hours before his voice grew hoarse and the most he could produce were small, choked sobs and pitiful whimpers. If there was such a thing as hell, he found himself thinking, this must have been _exactly_ what it felt like.

He wasn't sure how long he had spent in the ER, how long he had spent being tortured so terribly. He'd been fitted with casts and bandages and then taken to an inpatient room to recover. Alex never appeared. Cops did, though, and they didn't seem to have the faintest idea of common courtesy; even with the treatment, he still hurt _everywhere_, and all the stupid questions they were asking him didn't make him feel any better. Apparently, he hadn't been the first Rocket to end up at this particular hospital, because they kept asking him if he recognized names he'd heard around the Espionage offices. He refused to answer them, of course; feeling as though he'd been crushed by a steam roller or not, he wanted nothing to do with the cops or the feds. They were just bad news. Eventually, a nurse came and kindly chased them out for him, and despite the lingering pain, Lambda was exhausted enough to try and catch some sleep.

* * *

"Wait," Ariana cut in, and Petrel frowned slightly. He'd really gotten on a roll, telling that story- he didn't want to lose his steam. "How the hell did they figure out you were a Rocket? They don't know our recruitment practices."

"I thought that was self-explanatory," the purple executive replied, "I mean, obviously, others from Espionage ended up there, they must have had the same problem I did, what with the meds not working on them and shit. Now, do you mind? You asked for this story, you know."

"I know, it just seems... _weird_ to me." The ginger shrugged. "Anyways, go on?"

"Hold on, I'm out of water... Is that the waitress? Help me flag her down, yeah?" As soon as he'd gotten another melon-infused water (Ariana wouldn't stop teasing him about his fruity taste in drinks), he took a deep breath and continued.

* * *

When he next woke, it wasn't in the civvie hospital; in fact, it wasn't even anywhere in town. He was lying down in a bed in the base's medical wing, fresh hospital gown and all, and an IV dripping some painkiller or another strong enough to actually help into him. Not to say he felt good, of course, but truth be told, he didn't feel entirely terrible, and at least he knew, here in the HQ, he would be safe.

He knew he had to check out the damage. With a sigh, he slowly tried to sit up, and once he got a good view, had to frown at what he saw. Both legs had casts on them, as well as his left arm. He felt bandages wrapped around his torso and the crown of his head, and a somewhat cool patch plastered to his cheek. Just about everything seemed to have been injured in some way, save for his right arm, which merely had a few scrapes and bruises. Too bad he was left-handed.

"...Lambda...?" With a blink, the purple trainee glanced up and over to the door, and when he saw who it was, a smile stretched across his face. Alex stood there nervously, a small bouquet clutched in his hands and a pokeball and a card nestled in the crook of his arm. Seemingly forgetting what he was carrying, his orange-haired boyfriend practically flew at him, throwing his arms around him and burying his face into his neck, sobbing. "Oh, fuck, _Lambda_... I w-was so _scared_...!"

"Hey, sweetheart," Lambda greeted. He had to wince, though; his voice was still hoarse as hell. He'd screamed more than he thought, he supposed. "I'm sorry I worried you... Are you okay...?"

"Am _I_ okay?" Alex laughed at that and pulled back, wiping his eyes with his uniform's sleeve. "Fuck, Lambda, I'm not the one who broke nearly every major extremity, here! When they got you here, they had to do a hell of a lot of surgery to make sure you were going to be okay, then you were out for _days_... Your dad came back early to check up on you, but he had to go back, and as far as I know, Viper hasn't been around at _all_..."

"You said they had to do some surgery?" Lambda asked, frowning. "Why?" Silence. He didn't miss how Alex was avoiding his gaze, now, how his auburn beauty awkwardly tried to abort the conversation by arranging the flowers for him. He didn't miss that scared look in his eyes. "Alex... Sweetheart...?"

"...You didn't notice?" He frowned at that; didn't notice what? Had he missed something? Was his right arm actually broken?

"Didn't notice what?" Alex avoided his gaze for another second before slowly sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"...Lambda, dearest. Your back." His frown deepened; he felt fine, though he noticed, yeah, he _was_ slouching a little. He stretched a little, tried to push his shoulders back and straighten himself, but the instant he did, he was met with a blinding pain and a hiss escaped his lips as he curled right back over. That was when it hit him.

"...Oh, fuck... Just... just... _fuck_..." He held his head in his unbroken hand, swearing over and over again as Alex merely watched on pityingly. His back was shot- completely and utterly _shot_. For all intents and purposes, he was now classified by the Team as a cripple. Cripples didn't get to be assassins.

As if on que, there was a brief knock on the door, and the familiar face of his instructor poked into his vision. With a small, comforting smile, the Admin stepped fully inside.

"Mr. Orpheon," he greeted, "I'm glad to see you're awake."

"Administrator Crow," Lambda replied quietly. "Me, too. I... I should be able to come back to training in a few weeks-"

"I think we both know that's not happening," Crow cut him off. "Lambda, I'm sorry, but in your state..."

"I can still do it!" he protested. "I'm at the top of the Mewdamned class, Crow, you know if anyone could overcome this it would be me!"

"Regardless," the Admin said, "you are being removed from Espionage. Again, Lambda, I apologize- you had promise. You were ready; your final test was even being prepared, but in light of current events... Well, you understand. Know that your fellow trainees wish you an expeditious recovery, as do I. I hope you can find something to dedicate yourself to as much as you had in my group." He nodded politely to Lambda, then to Alex, and placed a giant kit-kat bar on the table next to the flowers before heading for the door.

"Fuck you, Crow!" Lambda shouted after him. "You're gonna fucking regret this, you bastard!"

"Lambda, babe," Alex started.

"Oh, not you, too!" The purple-haired boy scowled at him and crossed his arms awkwardly. "Fuck! If you're gonna take that asshole's side, you can just fucking get out!" Alex blinked, taken aback, and then scowled in return.

"Oh, if you're gonna be a douche about it!" he snapped. "It's not like I haven't slept for days waiting for you to fucking wake up! It's not like my apartment's completely fucking empty right now, or anything!"

"That's fucking _grand_," Lambda snarled, "now _get the fuck out_!"

"_Ugh_! You're _impossible_!" With one last dirty glare, Alex stood and quickly left the room. Lambda scowled at the door for a few minutes after he left before, slowly, his expression gave way to a sort of indifference, and he flopped back down, immediately wishing he hadn't when a sharp pain shot up his back.

The entire time he spent in the medical wing, Alex never stopped in to check back up on him, and soon he found himself growing lonely. The flowers on the table wilted and died, the kit-kat bar remained uneaten, and he never touched the card or the pokeball. Several times a day, a nurse would come in to check up on him, and despite his bitterness, they were usually friendly, answering any half-heated questions he sent their way. Some of the answers he got were actually quite intriguing, and soon he was learning the uses and effects of drugs they administered to him and whatever other patients they had to see. It was fascinating, he mused, just how much chemicals could effect the body. He came to be on rather good terms with the nurses who showed up day after day, and even though Alex was still mad at him, he found himself able to relax and focus his attentions away from his traumas and issues.

The day he was discharged, he took the card, the kit-kat bar, and the pokeball home with him, hobbling along on crutches, and after avoiding whatever coddling his father tried to force on him, Lambda settled himself at his desk and opened the card. There was something thick folded up and taped to the inside, and he frowned, removing it and setting it to the side.

_Lambda,_ the card read.

_As soon as you get better, you owe me an entire three day's worth of tom foolery and fucking around. Possibly literally. _

_I'm so sorry this had to happen. I wish I hadn't even suggested going out- if we'd just stayed in and cuddled, this wouldn't have happened to you, but we didn't, and now your dream is ruined._

_But maybe you can find a new one?_

_XOXO_

_Alex_

_P.S. I'm serious about the fucking around thing._

Yeah, now he just felt like a jerk. Completely ashamed, Lambda set the card down gingerly and turned his attention to the pokeball and the folded up paper. Deciding the paper was the more important, he unfolded it, frowning when he realized it was a packet of some sort- no, not just a packet. The aptitude test. Alex had gotten him a copy of the motherfucking aptitude test. He had a sudden urge to rip it apart then and there, to go to training as usual the next day, but he knew neither Crow nor his father would ever allow it- in fact, he'd probably get punished for it, seeing as it could be considered insubordination. That, and if he _did_ tear the thing up, he'd be even _more_ of a jerk to his boyfriend, who really only had his best interests at heart. He should go apologize. But first...

He clicked out the point of his pen, scrawled his ID number at the top of the page, and dutifully began bubbling in answers.

* * *

"...so then it was a few weeks later that I _actually_ got the results back, but when I did, I guess I'd been spending a little too much time talking to the nurses, because I landed two tracks from the Medical department as choices. I didn't really wanna be a nurse, though, so my options were, like... 'attending physician' and 'general surgeon' or something, I dunno. But yeah." Petrel smiled serenely as he took a bite out of his club sandwich. "That's the grand, amazing story of how I got transferred to medical, and how I screwed my back up so bad I got fired from a trainee position."

"What was in the pokeball?" Ariana asked, tilting her head. Petrel's smile widened into a grin.

"It was Monoxide!" he replied. "Alex had actually gone out and gotten me my first koffing. It was seriously sweet of him, and I felt _so_ fucking bad for being such an asshole to him. We made up, of course..."

"Huh." The red-headed executive smiled as well and leaned her chin on her palm. "You two really were quite the pair. Has Proton heard all of this, though?" Her purple-haired coworker shook his head.

"I mean, he knows I was in a crash," he said, "but he doesn't know the details. It's not really that important he knows, y'know? I mean, if he's ever curious, maybe I'll tell him, but if he's not, why bother?" Ariana was silent; Petrel took advantage of that to check the time on his pokegear. "Hey, it's almost two. Let's ditch this place and actually go shopping, eh? I've got cash burning a hole in my wallet, just _begging_ to be spent. Probably in that direction, somewhere." He gestured vaguely down the street, and Ariana giggled. They paid for their meal, and conversation taking a happier turn, headed off on their day's mission.

* * *

**Alela Diane's _Take Us Back_ inspired this one. I was almost tempted to start on an entire new story centering around Petrel, Archer, and Ariana when they were kids, but then I remembered I still have, like, seventeen chapters left for this one, so I decided to make this one of those. Oh, well. Maybe one day.**


	24. Guardianism Lecture

Disclaimer: I LIKE DISCLAIMERS. THEY DISCLAIM THINGS. AMIRITE.

To be quite honest, Petrel had no fucking idea what was going on.

It was the middle of summer- Proton's birthday, in fact- and on that very day for the past couple years, the two of them would have a blackberry pancake party for breakfast, and skip off work early to go out for dinner and possibly see a movie, or something. He'd assumed something similar would have happened that year, and as he and Proton were now officially in a relationship, he'd gone out of his way to force Archer to let him have the entire day off (he was _supposed_ to be working the night shift, that week, but he absolutely _had_ to make an exception for the occasion), and had scrounged up enough cash for one of the nicer restaurants in town. He'd even spent an entire fucking day carrying Ariana's bags during one of her shopping sprees so he could look for a nice gift to give the youngest executive. Of course, to an outsider, this all seemed pretty much cut-and-dried, with absolutely nothing to be confused about, at all. Petrel would beg to differ.

Upon waking, the first thing he had noticed was that Proton was nowhere to be found- and what was more, his hat was still sitting on the nightstand. This alone was a sign that something was terribly wrong, as even the newest of grunts knew Proton never went _anywhere_ without the damned thing. He was so self-conscious about his hair, the weirdo... Of course, assuming his boyfriend had simply woken early to take a shower or something, he'd ignored his concerns and opted to instead get started working on the blackberry pancakes, stumbling sleepily into the kitchenette. In more recent years, Proton would often scold him for trying to cook half-asleep, and occasionally he _did_ burn himself, but never making pancakes- he'd been making the things since he was nine; after almost thirteen years, it would have been a complete disgrace if it wasn't thoroughly ingrained into his mind. Kind of like blowing smoke rings, except he had decidedly less practice at that one.

Of course, when eight thirty rolled around and there was still no Proton to be found, Petrel was rather stumped. Generally, his friend was more prompt than this, out an about by eight on work days. Even on the rare days he tried to sleep in, blackberry pancakes usually did the job of rousing him, anyways, and so the dire lack of Proton Petrel was now faced with was quite disconcerting. Leaving the pancakes completely untouched, the purple-haired executive decided it was about time to begin a search. Hopefully, he wouldn't need any of his koffing to help.

His first thought had been to check the bathroom, figuring it was entirely possible that Proton had somehow fallen asleep in the shower, but when no water was running and the bathroom was void of any and all life save for the micro bacteria that were undoubtedly covering everything and plotting Petrel's imminent demise, he simply frowned, made a mental note to run through with a can of disinfectant, later, and went to search Silver's room. The small red-head stirred as Petrel entered quietly, grumbling at him sleepily, to which the executive could only chuckle. After assuring the boy that there was nothing to worry about and that he would be out quickly, he searched the room over, and once more not finding Proton anywhere, frowned and went back to search their room again.

By nine thirty, still with no Proton to be had, Petrel found himself hanging around in Archer's office, decked out in his street clothes- if his superior hadn't seen Proton at all, it was entirely possible his younger counterpart had headed off into town to kill people, and that wouldn't exactly be the best thing for the organization, at the moment. Of course, it was just as possible Proton had forgotten it was his birthday and was down in the U, but really, Petrel just wanted answers, and not a single thing happened in the base without Archer knowing about it- he just had to wait for the man to come back to his office, was all.

In the meantime, he took to snooping around, ignoring Coyote's growls when he looked at things he assumed were supposed to be for interim-boss-eyes only; most of them looked to be operation plans, with schematics for that project Archer and Proton were collaborating on, security analyses on various major buildings all over Johto, and estimated costs of operations. It seemed no matter what they tried to do, however, they were starting to lose money- with a frown, Petrel made another mental note to look into profitable black-market businesses they could start investing in.

For once, it seemed he'd decided to wait in Archer's office close to the time the man was supposed to be coming back, because not twenty minutes later the door opened, and the interim boss himself stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him as he shuffled through papers in a manila folder. Petrel knew the drill by now, of course; he waited patiently as Archer stood there for another few minutes, continuing to shuffle through his papers, before he stepped around Petrel and sat down behind his desk, never once looking up. He then continued to read whatever files he had with him, scrutinizing every last letter (sometimes, Petrel thought he did that just to piss people off) until, finally, he closed the folder and glanced up, frowning as though noticing the purple executive for the first time.

"Petrel," he greeted, "I wasn't expecting to see you here, today. After that big, bloody battle to get the day off, I assumed you would be spending your time, ah, _socializing_ with our resident psychotic mass murderer."

"Yeah, funny thing about that," Petrel replied, smiling sheepishly. "So did I. Lo and behold, I wake up and he's nowhere to be found. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you? He's not in his office, or anything?" Archer snorted and grabbed another folder from one of hie desk's drawers, leafing through it.

"If he were anywhere inside the building, of course I would know. He left very early this morning, before the sun rose; that's all I know."

"Sheesh, that's not much help," the purple executive said, frowning. "Do you know the general direction he would have headed?"

"I do," Archer admitted, "but I don't believe I'm at liberty to say. Tell me, you didn't make _reservations_ at that restaurant you were planning on taking him to, were you?" Petrel's frown deepened.

"Wha...? No, I mean, it's not like it's anything fancy, it's this little independent Italian joint, complete hole-in-the-wall. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason in particular. I just think it would have been rather embarrassing if you had gone through all of the trouble to make today as special as you possibly could and then had to cancel every single plan you made, is all."

"Alright, I know that tone, and I know _you_. There's something you're not telling me, Arch, spit it out. What's going on? Where's Proton?"

"You know," Archer said, completely avoiding the question, "it's ironic you would decide to take him to an Italian restaurant, I have reason to believe he's of the same ancestry."

"Archer..."

"I'm assuming he never revealed his surname to you, Lambda?"

"Okay, now I _know_ something's up. You didn't slam him down into your private block, did you? Because if you did, and he didn't actually do anything, I'm going to be pissed with you. Tell me where the fuck Proton is." Petrel scowled as Archer merely pursed his lips and shut the second folder, standing to go stare out of his office's window. He already knew how to play his stand-in boss's game- it was the same one Proton played, after all, dancing around questions, leading victims around in circles so that any question even vaguely personal became deflected, ignored, forgotten. It was annoying when Archer did it; it pissed him off to no end when Proton did it. Either way, he played the game with patience, refusing to speak until his last question- or in this case, demand- had been answered. As always, it took a few minutes, but eventually, the bluenette caved. Mostly.

"'Be weary, My child/ for though the land strengthens the heart/ the soul is drained and withered and twists/ and like unto the seviper in the desert/ shrivels and dies. / You may stay on land if you choose/ warmed by your Mother's eternal flame/ but on the twentieth winter you must return/ and in My water's currents be reborn.'" Archer loved to pull that cryptic old-man taurosshit from time to time; it had been quite the pain when he'd babysat Petrel as a kid. He would never look at the _Gligarman_ cartoons the same way, again.

"The _fuck_ are you talking about, Archer?" Petrel sighed. "And please, _please_ answer with something that actually makes sense to my brain."

"You know, for someone who's only dated Guardianists, and whose closest friends have all been Guardianists, you don't know a single thing about Guardianism," Archer deadpanned in reply. "Did it never occur to you to read the 'For Dummies' breakdown? The wiki page for it, even?"

"Why the _hell_ would I care, and what does this have to do with finding Proton?" The bluenette rolled his eyes.

"Alright, let's break this down," he said as though explaining it to a small child (which Petrel totally resented, by the way), "starting with the symbol of the heart and soul. Do you know which legendaries in Guardianism govern these two?"

"I'm going to say Ho-Oh and Lugia, considering all the paraphernalia I've seen."

"_Very good_. Now, according to Guardianism, everything can be broken down into these two base components. For the Earth, land is the heart and water is the soul. Simple enough, yes?"

"Yes... Can this not be a lecture? Because I'd really like to go find Proton, now."

"No."

"Dick."

"As I was saying, land and water, heart and soul, etcetera, etcetera. Following this, Ho-Oh lives on land, and Lugia in the sea, the Eternal Flame and the Life-Giving Water. Guardianism teaches that we are born of the sea, but live under the care of our Mother- Ho-Oh- on land. However, on land, water dries- in our Earthly bodies, our prisons of flesh, our soul withers and decays." Oh, he was _so_ tempted to just zone out. So very, _very_ tempted. Of course, Petrel knew from experience that doing so would just make Archer begin his lecture all over again. The head executive in question turned away from his window and back towards Petrel. "Starting from the year of our birth, every twenty years a Guardianist will return to the waters that gave us our life to rejuvenate our soul, courtesy of our loving Father- Lugia. This is the twentieth winter our scriptures speak of. Tell me, Petrel, what age is your beloved turning, today?"

"...Twenty..."

"And he is Guardianist, yes?"

"Unless he converted and never told me, yes."

"And there, my friend, you have your answer. Executive Proton will likely be meditating at the nearest large body of water- and if he is not on the grounds, I would suggest heading to the beach at Olivine. Does that answer your questions?"

"In the most roundabout way possible. I can always count on you to make things more difficult than they need to be, Archer. Thanks." The bluenette laughed and sat back down in his chair.

"Any time, my friend, any time," he replied. "Oh, just wait until he takes his pilgrimage- I'll be able to waste even _more_ of your time, then." Petrel's eyebrows rose.

"Pilgrimage, eh?" he asked. "When does he take that?"

"I'm not telling- it'll be a surprise, that way."

"Asshole. Thanks for shoving your religion down my throat, by the way."

"Always a pleasure. Have fun."

* * *

Olivine was windy, as it always was, and smelled heavily of sea salt and fish. To be quite honest, it wasn't anywhere near as nice as Lilycove, and Petrel hated the damn place. He wouldn't tell anyone, but he was very, _very_ happy that they'd never been able to build that base they'd once been planning (he still wasn't overly fond of how that ambush had nearly killed Proton, of course), and he couldn't help but wonder why Proton had decided to come _here_ for his Mewdamned religious thing- Cherrygrove had a perfectly nice slice of coast, and wasn't too much farther from the base than Olivine was.

As he walked, he had to wonder why Proton had even decided to actually practice his religion- as far as Petrel had known, his sweetheart had never been overly interested in Guardianism itself, often claiming his parents never being very religious, in the first place. He'd never spoken of its lore or of its scripture- in fact, Petrel wasn't even really sure what the Guardianist scripture was titled (he did feel a little awkward about that, as he was sure Alex had kept a copy under his pillow, once upon a time). He'd never mentioned going to church or- or temple, or whatever the hell Guardianists went to. That was just sad, Petrel berated himself- he had to go to one to buy Alex that damned necklace when they were kids, and he hadn't even taken the time to figure out what the place had been called. Though, he did notice Proton had never taken the necklace off once he'd given it to him, not including showering and the time they'd been arrested. Maybe Proton was a little more religious than he'd given him credit for?

When he finally reached the actual beach, Petrel had to put that train of thought on the backburner. There were a lot of people there, for a Thursday. He'd definitely be searching a lot- or so he thought. To be honest, he could have spotted Proton from a mile away. The green-haired man was just sitting around in the surf, staring out at the horizon. People were giving him a wide berth, not because he was being particularly intimidating (in fact, with the surf splashing into his face every couple seconds, it was kind of hard to take him seriously), or anything, but purely, Petrel suspected, because they knew why he was there, and didn't want to interfere with any soul-restoration he was currently undergoing.

He was relieved to see Proton unharmed, at any rate. He began striding across the sand, humming softly to himself as he approached his lover, and almost made it all the way over to plop down next to him when he stopped abruptly in his tracks. Maybe, he found himself thinking, Proton wasn't just doing this for the hell of it. Maybe there was a reason why everyone was giving Proton so much space. The epiphany baffled Petrel entirely- he couldn't see how it would matter, really, whether or not Proton did this alone. Would it, though? And if Proton had gone through all the trouble to leave early and quietly to head down to Olivine by himself, wouldn't that mean he was taking this kind of seriously? Petrel identified closer to an agnostic or an atheist than an actual Mewist, and although he rarely saw the merit in practicing any sort of religion, he didn't begrudge the people who did- and he certainly didn't want to upset Proton.

...It was enough that he'd been able to see his sweetheart was okay. He worried about Proton more than he cared to admit- not just hurting others, but hurting himself, though it seemed neither was the case on his boyfriend's current outing, and he doubted either would happen that day, at all, as long as the greenette didn't get whisked away by a current, or something. Or eaten by a tentacruel. It could happen. Either way, Proton was fine, no one around him was slaughtered, and Petrel didn't seem to have to worry. He supposed he would just return to the base, check on Silver, and spend the rest of the day reading.

Maybe Archer would let him borrow his Guardianist scripture.

* * *

**So, first off, I know it's short, but I'm on spring break, what do you want from me? :I**

**.-. Although I, like Petrel, classify more as agnostic than anything else, recently I've been taking an interest in religion and how it effects social interaction, and since it's been one of the parts of PokeEarth I've been neglecting, headcanon-wise, I figured I could start some development, here, and since I mentioned Proton's birthday in the past two-ish chapters, they could coincide for a lecture from Archer.**

**Except now I wish I could be in Johto listening to Archer lecture about random crap, because no matter what he rants about, it's always somehow rather interesting and informative. He would be The Very Best college professor.**

**I'd vote for him.**


	25. Overwhelming Doubt

Disclaimer: Yo, listen up, here's a story about a bunch of stuff that I don't own, and all day and all night everything gets disclaimed.

Forgiveness and trust weren't the same thing. They weren't the same thing, at all. Proton had assumed that when he'd found it in him to forgive Petrel for years of lies, deceit, and sabotage, things between the two of them would return to normal, and he would have been able to put all of the bad things behind them. It was a lot harder than he'd thought it would be.

On the day of his birthday, he'd gone out to the beach near Olivine, where they were constructing that fancy new battle tower, and had spent the entire day sitting around in the surf and thinking as he stared out at the horizon. Yes, they had made up, and yes, their nights were spent with as much cuddling and other intimacies as before, but things didn't feel the same, any more. At one point in time, he hadn't even a shadow of a doubt that Petrel always had his best interests at heart- but then, he had intentionally sabotaged Proton's projects. He'd believe Petrel when the taller man had said his injuries were why he never got field missions, but it was all the more likely that Archer simply didn't want him making contact with the cops. His lover was, Proton thought, for all intents and purposes, a traitor, and the fact that he hadn't been killed for his crimes baffled the green executive. How could they possibly trust one who had, just a few years ago, been planning to hand them all over to the IP on a silver platter?

That was why he hadn't brought Petrel with him to the beach; it was perfectly acceptable in Guardianism to bring close friends and family along on one's rejuvenation, and he had even considered inviting his boyfriend to share such a special occasion with him. Then, however, his mind turned back to the events of their arrest, and the things he had discovered, and he had hesitated, retired early, and left before Petrel had woken to avoid the issue. He was a terrible friend, he had thought, to not trust Petrel with something as simple as his own religious beliefs. How dearly he had wished for his lover to find him, to show up and whine and gripe about how long it took him to figure out where Proton had gone, how Archer had barely been any help at all, and to sit down next to him in the surf and hold him and laugh about how crazy his religion was. And yet, at the same time, he had been terrified- terrified that if that _had_ happened, he would have shown a weakness, and Petrel would have seen it and used it against him, blackmailing him into the two of them going rogue, turncoating, and delivering their home straight to the IP's front door. As much as Proton complained about his subordinates, and as much joy he took in punishing grunts in the U, he would never wish the Team's destruction.

When he had returned to their apartment later that evening, Petrel had asked him about his day, and for some reason he had found himself lying- he'd been in the forest, he'd claimed, enjoying a long walk and getting lost until he'd somehow found himself in Azalea, and it had seemed like a solid story to him, but Petrel had stared at him, long and hard, before going back to whatever book he was reading- it looked like the Tome, but that would have been silly; Petrel had no interest in religion, he'd thought. He had tried to subvert the conversation, then, asking Petrel if he'd been hungry enough to go out for dinner in town, and he offered to pay, as well, but Petrel had simply given him an exceedingly fake smile, apologized, and claimed he wasn't feeling well before he disappeared into their room, shutting the door a little harder than was really necessary.

They'd barely spoken, since then. It wasn't like that week after the rave, of course, they weren't spending their time shooting each other death glares, or anything, though Proton had to admit Petrel seemed to be in a bit of a bad mood more often than not. Though true conversation was scarce, they remained civil, ate together in the mornings and evenings, and still had movie night, but it was like there was a wall between them. They were distant with each other, both of them coming up with lame excuses on Saturdays as to why they wouldn't be able to participate in date night, and though it seemed they could see right through each other's lies, neither called the other out on it. Intimacies between them quickly became few and far in between, the occasional good-morning kiss and hand-holding, but they began to sit on exact opposite sides of the couch, and they kept as much room between them in bed as they could without either of them falling off. Nights seemed to be a lot colder, Proton noticed, when he wasn't wrapped in Petrel's embrace.

Silver seemed to notice what was going on, of course. He would give them weird looks as they had their awkward morning smalltalk, and once he had the audacity to walk up to Proton and ask him if he and Petrel were going to stay together. He'd completely flipped out, yelling and threatening and telling the kid to _mind his own damn business_. Silver had run and locked himself in his room, and Petrel had come flying in from the balcony, cigarette in hand, and they'd gotten into an argument, yelling and shouting at each other until the purple executive's cigarette had burnt down to his fingers and he swore and accidentally dropped it. Proton had quickly stamped it out before anything could catch fire, and before Petrel had said another word, he'd packed his necessities and left for his office. They'd gone back to their quiet civility after that, but even their smalltalk became forced.

Honestly, Proton wasn't sure what to do, any more. He was sleeping on the couch, now, nearly a week after their fight, though only because there wasn't room for a futon in his office, and only because he would feel terribly guilty if he made Petrel sleep on the couch, what with his back issues and all. He was starting to miss his lover something awful- his stupid jokes and deep laughter and inability to shut the fucking hell up. The quiet that had settled into their apartment was unsettling as hell, and Proton just wanted it gone.

But then, he told himself, once they _did_ start talking again, what would happen if Petrel got him to talk of his work? He didn't want to wake up one day and find prisoners released, wires cut, generators sabotaged- he didn't want to doubt Petrel. He'd rather slaughter each and every one of his subordinates before he doubted Petrel, but he had no choice, as Petrel was a traitor. And it pissed him off, too, that Archer had nearly killed him just for fucking up at Silph, but gave Petrel barely even a slap on the wrist when he had threatened the entire organization's livelihood. He scowled as he stared at the TV. It wasn't fair- it wasn't fucking fair, at all.

"Can you turn that down?" Petrel didn't even look up from his laptop as he asked, and Proton shot the back of his head a sneer. He didn't reply, he didn't move- he just kept on watching whatever the hell movie was playing. Honestly he wasn't even sure, he hadn't been paying attention to the last two hours of whatever the fuck channel he was on. A few minutes later, however, and Petrel tried again. "Proton. Turn it down. I can't concentrate."

"Yeah, well maybe you should have gotten your Lugiadamn adderall prescription filled," he finally snapped. "Fuck, it's already on ten, any lower and I won't be able to hear the damn movie!"

"Maybe that's why they invented subtitles," Petrel said bitterly. "Try reading for once, it wouldn't fucking kill you."

"Just wear your motherfucking headphones." The conversation ended there as Petrel was already pulling them out and unraveling the cord, muttering darkly to himself. He was lucky Proton couldn't hear what he was saying, otherwise, the green executive knew that he would be getting pissed as all hell, for sure, and as he hadn't had a reason to use his knife in the past couple weeks, he was actively looking for an excuse. Not a moment after Petrel had his headphones on, however, there was a knock on the door, and Proton growled as he got up and marched over to answer it. Upon opening it, he was surprised to see Archer and Ariana standing before him; Archer looked rather disgruntled, while Ariana was smiling sweetly at him. He knew that smile. That smile promised blood sacrifice.

"Archer, Ariana," Proton greeted wearily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, we were just wondering if you knew where Silver was," Ariana replied. "Do you know?" Proton rolled his eyes and leaned back to get a clear line of sight on Petrel.

"Petrel! PETREL! Dammit, asshole, I'm _talking_ to you!" Petrel threw his hands up in exasperation and removed his headphones, turning around to scowl heavily at Proton.

"What the _hell_ do you want?!" the purple executive snarled.

"Don't give me that fucking attitude! Where the fuck's Silver?!" Petrel's scowl deepened, and he opened his mouth, presumably to be a sarcastic bitch, but he paused and leaned back, catching sight of Archer and Ariana, and he sighed.

"He's in his room," he said, rubbing his temples. "Now can I _please_ get back to work?"

"There you go," Proton said, turning back to the twin executives, "he's in his _fucking_ room. You want him?"

"Oh, no, we came to return him." Ariana stepped aside to reveal one thoroughly scared-looking red-head boy, and as soon as Proton saw the kid, he swore. "May we come in?" Without a word, he stepped aside, and his superiors entered, Silver clutching tightly to Ariana's hand. She stopped in the kitchen to get Silver a snack, then took him to his room, and when she came back out, closed the door behind her. "You two," she snapped, glancing at Proton and Petrel in turn, "on the couch, now. Both of you, let's go."

"It's in your best interest to obey her," Archer added. The younger two executives exchanged glances, and without a word, did as they were told, sitting as far away from each other as the couch would allow. Archer took residence in the chair at Petrel's desk, merely watching as Ariana paced in front of the coffee table.

"Well?!" she snapped. "What do you have to say for yourselves?!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Ariana, I didn't mean to break the vase," Petrel said, mimicking the voice of a small child. Proton ducked his head to hide his smirk, though it seemed Ariana was less than amused, as evidenced by her stopping abruptly in her pacing, striding up to Petrel, and backhanding him, hard, across the face, the force nearly knocking the purple executive over.

"That boy has been living with Archer and I for almost four days, now," she seethed, "and you mean to tell me you never noticed he was gone?!" Petrel merely rubbed his cheek and shook his head.

"He's a quiet kid," Proton murmured, "even when we make an effort to keep track of him, we barely ever notice he's here." That was the wrong thing to say, it seemed, as Ariana turned her fury on him.

"So you weren't even _trying_ to look after him, is what I'm hearing. You know, I might have expected as much from you, Proton, but from _Petrel_?!" Her glare was enough to make the purple executive lower his head in shame. "I trusted you with the boy's wellbeing, and this is what happens!"

"Shouldn't've even bothered to trust him, in the first place..."

"Look, Proton, if you have a problem with me, just fucking say it!" Petrel scowled at him, and though Archer tried to speak up and end their argument before it started, Proton cut him off.

"I'm sorry, was I not bein' direct enough, you lying sonuvabitch?!"

"Oh, _I'm_ the lying sonuvabitch? What about you, huh?! You've been lying through your teeth to me about fucking _everything_ for almost two months, now!"

"You think that's long?! You think fucking _two months_ is long?! Bastard, you've been lying to me for _three motherfucking years_, how's _that_ for long?!"

"I told you! I fucking _told you_, I never lied about _us_!"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?!"

"I thought you forgave me, dammit!"

"I forgave you for sabotaging my fucking project, not for fucking _lying_ to me!"

"Will both of you _shut up_?!" Archer shouted. Proton and Petrel immediately quieted, turning their attention to their blue-haired boss, who crossed his arms impatiently. "The boy mentioned you were having a lover's spat, but I didn't realize it was _this_ bad. It seems quite clear to me, now, why I've been getting so many complaints about the two of you these past months, and quite frankly, I am shamed of both of you for handling this so poorly." He glanced to his sister. "I think we should take the child back with us, for now, and wait until these two _morons_ kiss and make up."

"We're doing a perfectly fine job of looking after Silver!" Petrel protested. Ariana laughed outright at that.

"Oh, you are, are you?" she replied. "You didn't even know where he was for the past four days- he could have been lying dead in a ditch, for all you knew. I agree with Archer on this one- we're looking after the child until you two can get a grip on yourselves. It's not just the boy's wellbeing at stake, either."

"Indeed," Archer agreed, "it's the organization's, as well. You know our output is dropping, don't you? Morale, as well- it's times like these our subordinates look to us as their leaders, and with such a poor example the two of you are setting, I have half a mind to fire the both of you." He checked something on his pokegear and stood, moving over to stand by his sister. "The both of you are off-duty until you can show me you are the leaders our grunts need. I have a project I will be putting the two of you on, however, in your current state I am afraid you would blow the base sky-high. If you have not worked things out within the next two days, I'm sure I can find a nice little cell for you to share in the Underground until you do. Do I make myself clear to the two of you?"

"Yes, sir," Proton and Petrel deadpanned in unison. Archer nodded.

"Shall we, Ariana?" Ariana cast the younger pair of executives one final glare before going to retrieve Silver. The boy waved solemnly to Petrel and Proton as he was led out of the apartment by the white-clad rockets, and Petrel waved back at him. They remained on the couch after that in silence for quite some time- twenty minutes, at the very least, not like either of them were counting. It was Petrel who broke the silence, first.

"I didn't realize it bothered you that much." Proton scowled at him and grabbed one of the couch pillows, hugging it to his chest.

"What did you fuckin' expect?" he growled half-heartedly. "I'm sorry, do you even _know_ what it's like to find out the _one fuckin' guy_ you would ever fuckin' spill your heart out to was _lying_ to you for three _motherfuckin' years_?!"

"For a while you played it off like you didn't care," Petrel pointed out. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired, Proton noticed. Exhausted, in fact. He must not have been sleeping well, as of late, and for some reason, that thought just made the greenette feel guilty as fuck. It couldn't have been his fault, he tried to reason with himself, he had no reason to feel badly- but the last time he'd seen Petrel look even relatively close to being that tired was that week after the rave so long ago, when they'd refused to speak to each other. "I didn't understand why you started lying to me all the time, or why you didn't at least tell me what you were doing on your birthday."

"How did you know I was lying about that, anyways?" Proton asked. Petrel shrugged one shoulder non-noncommittally.

"Archer gave me a lecture, and I followed his cryptic old man hints to Olivine," he admitted, "I almost joined you, but everyone else was giving you so much space, I thought you were supposed to be left alone."

"...You should have stayed," the younger whispered. "I know I should have told you, but _you should have stayed_..."

"Why didn't you?" When he didn't reply right away, Petrel scooted closer and reached out, stroking his cheek before gently grasping his jaw, forcing Proton to look up at him. "If you wanted me with you, why didn't you tell me?" Proton tried to remove himself from Petrel's grip, but said grip only tightened, and it was clear that he wasn't getting out of anything, this time.

"I was scared," he said at last. "I was scared I was going to say something personal, something you could use against me if... if you ever..." He let the sentence hang there, but Petrel seemed to get the gist of it, and the taller man's brow furrowed before he pulled away several moments later.

"Oh, Mew," he murmured, "if I had known... If I had fucking _known_ what all of that shit would cause, now... I can promise you, Lance, I would have made some very different decisions." Proton opened his mouth to try and say something, but Petrel beat him to the punch. "I know, I know, you're not sure if you can even trust _that. _Look, sweetheart..." He turned slightly to face him better. "I understand why certain choices I've made in the past would make you uncomfortable with me, now, and why it would make you think you can't trust me, but I... I want you to know- even though the organization may not have my full, unquestioning loyalty, anymore, _you_ have it in its _entirety_. Whatever you fight for, I will _always_ have your back, and when you decide to be an idiot and get yourself shot, I'll be there to pull the lead out of you. You are the_ best_ thing that's happened to me in my entire Mewdamn life, and I'll be _damned_ if I lose you to anyone or anything- even my own stupidity. All I ask is you give me one more chance to prove it to you." Proton laughed softly and shook his head.

"I'm not sure if I have it in me," he replied earnestly, "I'm honestly not."

"Hey." Petrel placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. "For the jacuzzi tub." Proton couldn't help but crack a small smile.

"...Alright," he agreed, "for the jacuzzi tub. But only one more chance. If you screw up _this_ time..."

"I won't. I promise."

"Good." The matter settled, Proton scooted to fully lean against Petrel, snuggling down against him, and grinned lazily when he felt the purple executive's arms wrap around him. "I've missed this."

"Me, too," Petrel agreed. "You know, we have two entire days off, as long as we don't run into Archer. Maybe we can finally go to that restaurant I've been meaning to take you to..."

"Hey, kid-free vacation?" Proton laughed. "I'm good for _anything_. Though, it occurs to me we should be looking into that whole morale drop thing..."

"Eh, we can worry about that, later. For now, it is seven 'o clock on a Saturday evening, the sun is _just_ now setting, and it appears that, for once, neither of us are predisposed with having to remove prior engagements from the oven." Ah, and the first crappy joke had arrived- Proton couldn't help but snicker, his amusement earning a proud grin from his lover. "What say you and I sneak out and go for a walk in the forest, sweetheart?"

"I say, 'race ya to the gates'."

"You're on." With nearly identical grins, the two leaped to their feet and ran about getting their boots and gloves before they raced out of their apartment and towards the elevators, taking care to avoid anyone who would rat them out to Archer and end their so-called 'vacation' early.

Forgiveness and trust weren't the same thing. They weren't the same thing, at all. But Proton knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Petrel would earn both from him, no matter how terribly he ever screwed up. That was just how they rolled.

* * *

**:D Have a shiny-sparkly new chapter, just for you. Don't worry, we'll hit the GSCHGSS events before the end of the semester. **

**Every time you review a chapter, Proton's faith in Petrel is restored. Save a shipping. Review a chapter.**


	26. Trainee Training

Disclaimer: Lawyers, lawyers your foolishness forces me to write; I shall disclaim the notion that I even hold the rights. (Please don't sue me.)

"Executive Proton!" Proton glanced up from his report as he heard his name, nodding in greeting as he realized Decarli had entered his office.

"Hey, Leo," he said, returning to his paperwork, "what's up? You guys don't need me, already, do you?"

To be honest, he wouldn't have been surprised if they had; it was the start of the new recruiting season for the Security department, and in previous years, Carillo (who oversaw the training of the grunts new to the department) had often asked for him to observe every now and then, just to scare the shit out of the new guys and keep them in line. Of course, with the unofficial disbandment of the organization, they hadn't been expecting more than seven new recruits, total, and Proton had assumed Carillo would be able to handle it by himself.

"I know you didn't want to be bothered, sir," Decarli sighed, "and really, under any other circumstance I would have found another way-"

"I'm going to guess that means you didn't even try, this time, then."

"-but everyone is busy and it seems Ray was too cool to get his flu shot-"

"Dammit. I told him. Didn't I tell him? You were there, you heard me!"

"Yes, sir, you told him-"

"Fuck, now I'm gonna have Petrel on my ass about this when I get home, today... Carillo's gonna have more to worry about than a fuckin' virus when he gets back to work, I can promise you that..."

"Yes, sir. But I came to ask if you would have the time to look after the grunts, for the day." Proton scowled, first at Decarli and then down at his report. Honestly, no, he _didn't_ have the time, but _someone_ had to train the newbies, and he didn't want Decarli's pussiness rubbing off on any of them- that was why he put Carillo in charge of them, after all, because Carillo was a bit of a badass. Sometimes he wondered why, exactly, Decarli was his second instead of Carillo, but then he usually remembered that Carillo wasn't just a badass, he was also a self-entitled asshole who thought he deserved the Executive position more than Proton did, and to be honest, the green executive didn't want to have to deal with that, so Decarli it was.

"Dammit," he finally sighed. "Alright, alright, I'll do it. Do me a favor and finish my report for me, then, it needs to be on Archer's desk by noon." Decarli immediately began complaining about his own workload, but Proton mostly tuned him out and set about pulling his boots back on (having anticipated spending most of the day at his desk, he'd decided to get comfortable, but alas, it was not to be), stuffing his wallet into his pocket and adjusting his hat before leaving for the elevators. Decarli jogged after him, now blabbering on about what to expect from the grunts, or something, Proton didn't really care, and he barely glanced at the clipboard his lieutenant pushed into his hands with all of the recruits' member files.

Unlike every other department in Team Rocket, the Security department didn't hold their trainings in one of the designated rooms on the ground floor- instead, they used a small, empty block in the U, consisting of approximately ten cells, a double interrogation chamber for practical lessons, and a lounge fitted with a projector set-up for lectures. On the one hand, it was great because they could simulate the average U conditions almost perfectly; on the other, on PT days or days they had to train the newbies in hand-to-hand, they had a longer distance to walk before they got to the training gym. Because of this, Proton was faced with a difficult decision: was he too lazy to go all the way back up to the ground floor, or was he too lazy to actually try and teach them something? Even by the time he got down to the lounge, he hadn't made up his mind.

The seven new recruits were sitting around, talking and laughing with each other, and Proton was dismayed to see that they all kinda looked like pussies. He _really_ didn't need any more Decarlis walking around. In fact, out of all of them, the only one who seemed to have any promise was the sole female of the group, who was ignoring the men in favor of playing with her grunt-issue utility knife. He'd have to keep an eye on her, Proton thought, maybe she'd even be Admin material.

"Grunts!" Decarli called over their chatter, though they didn't seem to hear him. There wasn't enough force in his voice, Proton mused. He'd have to bring that up with them, later. "Oi! _Grunts_! Quiet!" Second time was the charm, it seemed, as the grunts finally noticed them and settled down, turning their attention to Decarli. Some of them shot Proton curious glances, and the executive would have bet his hat that none of them knew who the fuck he even was. This was sure to be interesting.

"Where's Administrator Carillo?" one of the guys in the back asked. Proton immediately didn't like him- not only did he not seem to have the regulation grunt hat, he wasn't even wearing the gloves. Oh, and also, he looked like this one kid he went to school with that picked on him constantly, which kind of made him want to stab the guy, but Archer would probably lecture him if he did. Fuckin' Archer.

"Carillo's been predisposed, today," Decarli said patiently. "Normally, the task of training you all would have fallen on my shoulders, but Executive Proton decided to take the reigns, today." A couple of the grunts began whispering to each other, and the glances cast Proton's way became more frequent. He smirked at them, then nodded to Decarli.

"I'll take it from here," he said, "get back to work. And make sure to get my fuckin' report finished, will you?"

"Sir." Decarli nodded to him, then to the grunts, and left the lounge. Proton watched him go, and as soon as he was gone, dug in his pocket for the box of cigs he stole from Petrel earlier in the week (not like he would notice or even care, as he always had at least five lying around the apartment at any given time) and lit one up, taking a long drag before simply leaning back against the wall and observing his new trainees. They stared back at him expectantly, but a few minutes later when they realized he probably wasn't going to be saying anything, they turned and began chattering quietly amongst themselves once more. It was like high school all over again, Proton mused. Well... almost. He was pretty sure none of his teachers ever carried knives in their back pockets.

"Excuse me." Unlike Decarli's pathetic attempt, his own voice was quiet, yet edged with an unyielding force promising no argument, and the effect was immediate- all eyes were suddenly on him. Perhaps they wouldn't be that difficult to train, after all.

"...Sir?" the girl asked after another moment in which he didn't speak. Proton cast her a fleeting glance and took another drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke in the grunts' direction.

"Did I say any of you could talk?" He pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward. "All of you. Fall in." Chairs were pushed back as the grunts scrambled to obey, standing at attention in a rather shoddy line in front of him. A quick glance up and down the formation made Proton grimace and he shook his head. "Fuckin' disgrace. Dress it up- didn't they fuckin' teach you that much in basic, you pussies?" Ah, and then the disgruntled mumbles and annoyed expressions as they shuffled to comply, and he had to suppress the urge to smirk. They were going to be a fun bunch, he was quite sure. They were fresh- they didn't know his game. They would learn, of course, but until they did, he would milk it for all it was worth. He hoped Carillo's flu lasted the entire lugiadamn week. "Better. Next time, do it right and save us the damn time. Now, I have no fuckin' clue what Carillo lets you get away with, but let me make myself clear right now, so pay the fuck attention. You do not speak unless spoken to. If I tell you to do somethin', you fuckin' _do it_, and you do it _right_. I don't have any patience for time-wasters- we spend too long on any one thing, see, and I start gettin' bored. Me bored is _not_ something you want." As he paced in front of the formation, he was a bit pissed off that no one seemed to be taking him seriously. He'd have to have a talk with Carillo about that, later.

"Before we start whippin' you little bastards into shape, let's lay out some basic ground rules. You wanna moan and gripe about anythin' we do, you keep it to yourselves; our complaint department happens to be the Boss-man's houndoom. I'm not kiddin'. We do not talk about nor share our fuckin' trainin' with _anyone_ outside of the department. Fear stems from the unknown, not the threat of blood, especially in this organization. You _will_ get any and _all_ vaccines advertised by Medical, otherwise Executive Petrel's gonna be on _my_ ass about it, and then you get to visit my private block for time-out. And speaking of Petrel- you're gonna see him down here, from time to time. And you're gonna overhear him talkin' to me, and he may or may not call me by a specific name." He stopped abruptly in his tracks and glared dangerously at the trainees. "A few of my guys already have, and _some_ of them got the _bright idea_ that they could call me it, too. I'll let you in on a little secret- most of the disciplinary actions Executive Archer had to take with me were for beatin' those guys _bloody raw_- and you'll be fuckin' _lucky_ if I knock you out. We understand each other, grunts?" No one replied. "I'm sorry, maybe you didn't hear me. You bitches understand what I'm fuckin' tellin' you, or do we have to start time-out early?" He was met with an unsteady chorus of "yes, sir", and after a moment, he deemed it good enough and shrugged. Now, there was the matter of Mr. Gloveless, over there...

The man straightened himself a little as Proton stepped in front of him, looking him over. His blond hair was was set into small, soft spikes, with some hanging into his eyes- indigo. An odd color. But his face was familiar as hell, a little on the wider side with a blunt nose, square chin, and vague scruffle of a beard. He was, in fact, the spitting image of the kid that used to pick on him, if somewhat older, and Proton couldn't help but sneer and blow smoke into his face. The man closed his eyes and tried to avoid breathing, but it seemed he couldn't handle it, and was coughing into his arm not a moment later.

"You look familiar," Proton told him. "Goldenrod Public High?" Silently, the man nodded. "Aw, what, too scared to talk? It's not _my_ fault, is it? I think I'm a pretty friendly guy, bitch, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," the man replied quietly. Proton smirked.

"That's what I thought. How old are you?"

"Twenty, sir."

"Homeroom with Holtzman, AP English with Jennison, AP Calc AB with D'arco?"

"Yes, sir. Was that all in my file?" Proton laughed softly and shook his head.

"Oh, no," he replied, "no, no, no. Of course not, don't be a fuckin' idiot. I was in all of those classes with you. Ah, how the mighty have fallen, eh, Seliber? What, you flunk out of college, so your back-up was to go Rocket?" The man stared at him for a moment, confused, before his eyes widened in recognition.

"Shit," he said, "_Lance_?" Before the name had even left his mouth, Proton had slugged him one square in the jaw and kicked his legs out from under him, sending him falling hard onto the concrete floor. As he was trying to push himself back to his feet, the green-haired executive slammed his foot down onto his sternum, eliciting a pained gasp from the taller man, and proceeded to shift most of his weight onto him.

"I thought I told you motherfuckers _not to call me that_," he growled, flicking out his switchblade. "Stop fuckin' movin', or this goes right in your lugiadamned eye, bitch. Still think I'm playin' games, here, Kevin?"

"N-no, sir," Kevin stammered. "S-sorry, sir."

"_Good_." Proton dug his heel into the man's chest, smirking as he felt the bone bend and creak beneath him, but right before he could do any real damage, he backed off and returned to front of the formation. "We're going upstairs. If I catch anyone fucking around, you get to end up like Seliber, there. Stay in formation and don't fuckin' speak. Let's go." Without another word, he abruptly turned on his heel and left the room, the grunts following obediently after him. The journey to the training gym was rather uneventful, and the grunts remained well-behaved the entire trip, which was kind of a let-down. He was hoping to have an excuse to use his knife on one of them, but, whatever.

The gym was mostly empty, save for a few grunts and admins scattered here and there, and Proton gazed around lazily as he tried to figure out what task he would assign his trainees. He was just about to tell them to just do fuckin' wall squats for the rest of the day and that he would skin anyone who fell over alive, when his eyes landed on a specific purple-haired man off to the side doing some pull-up sets. After ordering his grunts to remain in place, Proton strutted over and merely watched as Petrel continued his exercise. Eventually, his boyfriend must have realized someone was there, as he glanced over.

"Fuck!" he swore. "Dammit, Pro, you were starting to creep me out a little, there. I didn't know you were in here, today."

"Yeah, I didn't, either," Proton replied, smirking. "I was actually supposed to be doing paperwork all day, but Carillo disregarded the fliers you had your boys paste everywhere downstairs." Petrel rolled his eyes.

"Damn him," he said, "I put those fucking things up for a reason. So, what, you want me to demo, or something?"

"Well, I just finished scaring the fuck out of them, so I figured they'd appreciate seeing something fuckin' awesome. A quick one-round match, show off some mantis, set them up in pairs to practice set A."

"Alright, just let me finish the set." Petrel returned his attention to his pull-ups. As he simply stood back and watched, Proton mused about how lucky he'd been to find Petrel at that exact moment- the t-shirt the man usually wore for exercising was currently soaked with sweat and hanging from the _other_ pull-up bar to dry out, and so he was able to enjoy another few minutes of watching the muscles on his lover's wiry frame flex. He was thoroughly disappointed, however, when Petrel finished and placed his feet back on the floor. "You know, I've been complaining to Archer for _years_ that we don't have a bar high enough for me, and the bastard _still_ hasn't put one in."

"You know how he is, P," Proton replied, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Petrel's water for him and handed it over, and once the purple executive was sufficiently hydrated, they went back over to the trainees, who were all just sort of shifting awkwardly in silence. They learned _very_ quickly. Proton smirked at them. "Alright, bitches, it's game time, so pay attention. I know they taught you some hand-to-hand in basic, right?" He was met with silent nods, but he didn't press the issue. "Well, once you get into your technical trainings, you get to start learnin' shit that actually has something to do with your lugiadamn job- Field learns jujitsu, karate, and Southern, Administration and Medical learn taichi, Espionage learns Northern Shaolin, and on and on. We're Security, so we get to learn the one I think is the most fun, and that's Northern Mantis." So saying, Proton jumped and landed in an exceedingly low cat stance, hands whipping out as mantis claws. "Mantis is about low stances, jumping around like fuckin' Yoda, and strong grips. There's a lot of throws and a lot of good ways to kill shit with it. If you ain't flexible now, you'll be a motherfuckin' _acrobat_ by the time you're a full-time grunts."

"I can vouch for that," Petrel added, grinning. "Proton's been like a fucking slinky since he finished the mantis track. He can spend the entire day bending over and you never get tired of it." The grunts exchanged glances, seeming to wonder if they were all hearing the same thing, before several of them began to giggle. Proton's eye twitched.

"Ignoring him," he said, "Petrel and I are gonna do a quick demo for you, then you all get to spend the rest of your time practicing until you go for your specialization mentoring. We ain't gonna do this twice, so pay attention." He motioned towards the fighting ring in the center of the room, and the grunts gathered around to watch as he and Petrel slipped through the ropes. They took their places and saluted to each other in their respective styles before settling into their ready stances.

"Ready?" Petrel asked.

"Let's do this shit," Proton agreed. They remained motionless for a moment, simply staring each other down, and the grunts watched on, wide-eyed with anticipation. It was Petrel who made the first move. Although he was definitely more built for a style a little more springy, he tended to fight with Southern, as it didn't require low stances, and was easier on his knees and back- however, his attacks were stiffer, and Proton could see them coming from a mile away. He quickly blocked the first punch, using almost a slapping motion, and then quickly lifted his front foot as Petrel swept a kick at him. He retaliated with a punch of his own, but Petrel knocked his fist's directory towards the side and stepped in for a sliding punch. Proton quickly grabbed his wrist and swung his back foot around to press against Petrel's forward foot, and he hit hit forearm just above Petrel's elbow and rolled upwards and tugged on his wrist as he reversed his stance, sending his lover sprawling. For what it was worth, Petrel was able to break his arm out of Proton's grip and hop back to his feet. They became still once more, waiting for the other to make the next move.

This time, it was Proton who began the assault with a hammer fist, but Petrel quickly avoided the attack and lashed out with a tiger claw. Proton narrowly dodged the first, but the second grazed his cheek and the third slashed across his chest and shoulder; idly, he was kind of glad Petrel kept his nails short, otherwise he was sure that could have dug in a lot deeper. He tried to step in and curl a mantis claw around the back of Petrel's neck, but the purple executive attempted another slide punch, forcing him to back up and block it. Petrel followed that up with front kick, and as soon as Proton saw what was coming he lashed out with a kick of his own, hooking it around Petrel's and throwing the man off-balance. As he struggled to remain upright, Proton moved in again, this time grabbing his lover by the throat and throwing him down to the mat. He let his stance drop and he offered his hand to Petrel, who grinned and took it, pulling himself back up. They saluted to each other once more and turned to the trainees, who looked completely astounded. Overall, Proton thought, that had probably taken them maybe a little over a minute. Maybe.

"And if you train hard enough, one day you can spar with the big boys, too," he said. "For now, you just get to learn Mantis A, that things I did to P in the beginning where I grabbed him by the arm and threw him down. We'll demonstrate it one more time and then you're going to break into pairs and practice." Without waiting to see if there were any questions, Proton and Petrel took their stances in front of each other again, and they broke the move down for the trainees. Soon enough, the grunts were awkwardly throwing each other around. Proton considered going around and helping any of them who seemed to be having trouble, but he was feeling kinda lazy, so he didn't. He and Petrel merely watched for a moment before they became bored, and the taller cast his gaze off to the weights.

"Hey," he said, "come be my spotter." Proton tried to protest, but Petrel cut him off. "Oh, give it up, don't think I didn't see the way you were ogling me while I finished my set, over there." Proton huffed and rolled his eyes, but gestured on towards the weights anyways, and the two made their way over.

"So," Proton said as he helped Petrel get the weights on the bar, "how much are you benching, now, exactly?"

"I'm at about eighty kilos," the purple executive said as he slid under it. "Considering I'm Med and Science, I find that pretty damn impressive, but the last time I talked to my old man about it, he was kind of disappointed. How much do you do, anyways?"

"Around the same, 'bout eighty-five. When you work in Egineering, man, you gotta be able to do more than your own body weight, otherwise you're screwed. Especially when you're small like I am."

"Aw, you're not _that_ small. Archer's shorter than you by, what, five, seven centimeters?"

"Five. And don't you fuckin' dare say I'm not that small, you're an entire lugiadamn thirty centimeters taller than I am."

"Twenty seven centimeters, I think."

"Fuck, like three centimeters matter. You're too fuckin' tall. Speakin' of Archer, you know he wants us to take our admins and duke it out in combat training?" Petrel laughed.

"Yeah, he told me," he replied. "Honestly, I love 'combat training', it's the best excuse to go fuck around in laser tag. I've already made the reservations with our man on the inside."

"We have a guy on the inside for _laser tag_?"

"Yeah, my buddy Erik. I've mentioned him before, haven't I?"

"Oh, _him_. Yeah, I just didn't realize his glorious spy position was a laser tag arena employee."

"Haha, I guess his stories sound way cooler than they actually are." The two laughed for a moment, and then quieted as Petrel worked on finishing his set. Proton was, once more, content with simply watching, and was rather put-out when he stopped.

"Hey...," he said as he handed Petrel his water.

"Mm?"

"What say we up the ante on it, a little?" The purple executive's eyebrows rose in amusement.

"Oh?" he replied. "What sort of ante are we talking about, here?"

"Let's say... if _my_ team wins the match, you have to go into work dressed as a magical girl." Petrel nodded and took a swig of his water.

"Alright," he agreed, "I can live with that, I think. What happens if my team wins?" Proton clicked his tongue thoughtfully as he pondered that, and suddenly, he smirked and leaned over to whisper into Petrel's ear.

"If your team wins, I'll let you do whatever you want to me, this weekend." Petrel's eyes widened significantly and he choked, spraying water everywhere. Proton laughed as he grimaced and wiped his mouth.

"I'm sorry, did you _hear_ yourself?" the purple executive asked, brow furrowing. "You _realize_ what you're saying, I hope? I mean, we've had this conversation, before, you pretty much threatened to castrate me if I so much as _thought_-"

"You brought it up at a bad time," Proton cut him off, rolling his eyes. "And _yes_, I know what I'm fucking getting into. Believe it or not, that password on your 'Petrel Only' folder in your pictures is _not_ that hard to crack."

"You _hacked_ my computer?!"

"It's _not _hacking if your password is 'koffingusedsmog', I'm sorry. You might wanna change that, by the way. And not to 'smokescreen' or 'selfdestruct', either."

"Are you fucking- you hacked my email, too?!"

"I was bored." Petrel shook his head and cast him a half-hearted scowl.

"Just for that, I'm going to make _sure_ my team beats the shit out of your team. Just wait, by the time Monday rolls around, you won't be able to fucking _stand_ on your own." Proton laughed again.

"If you say so," he said patronizingly. "Ah, but one thing- I don't know if you're actually into that piercing shit, or if that just came with the fucking pictures, but that's the one thing I ain't doin' no matter how much you fuckin' beg, got it?"

"Yes, sweetheart. I'm gonna head down to the cafeteria and see if they have anything edible, today, wanna come?"

"Nah, I gotta go make sure Decarli got my work done. I'll see you, tonight." They exchanged a quick kiss, and Proton watched as Petrel went over to retrieve his shirt and left the room. After a moment, he stood, himself, and stretched. Combat training was going to be interesting- with Carillo down for the count, his team was going to be at a significant disadvantage, but he'd be _damned_ if he didn't win. Petrel going in to work dressed as a magical girl was too hilarious to _not_ happen.

"Executive!" the female grunt called, snapping him from his thoughts. "Executive Proton, could you come demo it for us, again? I think we've got it wrong!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Seliber, get ready, you get the honor of being my training dummy." For now, Proton thought, he'd just focus on his trainees, and on finding an excuse to thoroughly beat the shit out of Kevin, the bastard. He could worry about the combat training, later.

* * *

**The stakes have been set, the dice have been cast, and the trainees have been thoroughly terrified. Will Proton and his team be able to defeat Petrel? Will Petrel ever go into work dressed as a magical girl? Find out on the next episode of...**

**DRAGON BALL Z.**

**Oh, wait.  
**

**Wrong fandom.**


	27. Combat Training

Disclaimer: Even disclaimer time is Voltaire time.

Here it was. The day of reckoning. The moment of truth. Proton was prepared- or, well, he was prepar_ing_. Today was the day he and his highest-ranking admins (not counting Carillo, as he was still out sick), would do battle with Petrel and his team. They had to win, there was no question about it- the wellbeing of Proton's ass depended on it. Also, if they won, Petrel would have to go in to work dressed as a magical girl, and that was bound to be hilarious. So really, it wasn't a question; they _had_ to win. Of course, with Carillo out, that meant they were going to be outnumbered terribly, and though Proton had plenty of faith in his immediate subordinates, he really wasn't willing to risk it. He had decided, then, to send Decarli down the chain of command to find someone who both had the time to spare and the proficiency in shooting that they needed for their assault, and in the meantime, he gathered the rest of his team in an admin lounge and began going over their strategy.

"So," he was saying, "seeing as we can't be entirely sure of what the building's layout is going to be, this time, we're going to have a bit of a r**o**ugh time, but I think as long as we don't try to clump or spread ourselves too thin, we should be okay. Are we using the same battle buddies from last time?"

"Obviously not," Forhan spoke up, "Ray's not here, the bastard. And after what happened last time, I'm _not_ partnering up with Jozef, that was a _disaster_."

"Hey," Peng said, frowning, "I thought it went alright. C'mon, Ashley, it was _fun_."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, did you not notice the freaking herd of tauros trying to run us down?"

"Yeah, no, I agr**e**e," Proton cut in, "you two working together is the last thing we need. Peng, you stay with Heim. Forhan, you can be with Mystery Man-"

"I want Decarli." The green executive frowned, and Forhan crossed her arms and settled back in her chair.

"Out of the question. Decarli runs with me."

"Well, I don't want to be stuck with some idiot who won't listen to a thing I say, and there's no guarantee Mystery Man'll be as big of a pussy as Decarli."

"She has a point," Heim said, shrugging. "We have no clue who Leo's gonna find, you might as well take 'em. Whoever it is, sir, they're gonna listen to you whether they like it or not. Like Carillo."

"Ugh, I hope to _Lugia_ they're nothing like Carillo." Proton rolled his eyes and turned to the whiteboard mounted on the wall, uncapping an expo and writing down the battle buddy pairs. "Motherfucker just whines and complains about how he wants my fucking position. Anyways, our battle plan... Me and our mystery friend are gonna play bait, and draw Petrel's team out- we need to take _him_ out as early as we can, he's got a lot more experience than the rest of his team, combined. Once we've taken care of him, we'll revert to a classic sweeping pattern..." He drew several different types of arenas and laid out the basics of how each would be swept. "This way, we should be able to take them out cleanly and efficiently. Once we start sweeps, we run solo, but I want someone in these three spots at all times..." He marked a few squares around the different maps. "This should give us the best advantage. Now, remember, we won't be able to bring our comms inside, so if something gets in the way, be prepared to improvise." He turned back to his team and snapped the cap back onto the marker. "Any questions?" Heim raised her hand, and P**r**oton nodded to her.

"I've been looking at our schedules," she said, "and we seem to have a lot more of these coming up in the future. Why is that, sir?" Proton laughed.

"Aw, don't be an idiot," he said, "you think we're gonna keep the team around and not be plannin' something? Don't worry about it, sweet-cheeks; just trust in the Boss-man, and everything is gonna be alright. Any other questions?" His team glanced around at each other, waiting, but when no other hands were raised, they shrugged. "Alright, then. You guys make sure you're ready, then take five. When Decarli gets back with our last guy, we'll brief them real quick and then we're off to the parking garage to meet up with P." With a general chorus of "yes, sir" and a single "you got it, bro" from Peng in the background, his admins began going through their things. Keeping his eye on the door, he adjusted his hoodie and hat before proceeding to take one of the unoccupied seats near the vending machines and propping his feet up on the table there. It was several more minutes before Decarli returned, and when he did, Proton was anything but pleased, for following awkwardly behind him was Kevin Seliber, his arch nemesis. Well, maybe not arch nemesis. More like an unpleasant memory. Actually, make that memor_ies_. As in plural. Because there were more than one, several of which involved being shoved and trapped inside his locker.

"I got our guy, sir," Decarli said, grinning. Proton didn't grace him with a reply, rather, he merely scowled and crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. Decarli's grin faltered.

"You," Proton said after a moment, casting Kevin with a fleeting glance, "go sit down, and keep your lugiadamn mouth shut." The grunt didn't need any telling twice, and he practically ran to the other side of the room. "What the fuck, Decarli?!"

"You told me to find someone available who was a good shot," Decarli replied, "Seliber has a near perfect record at the range. I mean, I know he's a grunt, and he's inexperienced, but he has promise. Give him a chance?"

"No!" Proton growled. "No, just fuckin' no, I'm not taking that piece a' shit with us, and I'm _definitely_ not partnering up with him!" Decarli frowned.

"Wait, I thought **I** was your battle buddy," he said. Proton snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I wish, Forhan's refusing to work with anyone but you, this time. Fuck. Do you think we could stand our ground without Seliber?" Decarli thought on that for a moment and the slowly shook his head.

"Not well," he replied. "I mean, it's possible, but we'll be **r**unning a pretty significant risk of losing. Why are you so gung-ho about this one, anyways?"

"I made a bet with Petrel," the green executive admitted. "If we win he spends a day working in a magical girl outfit."

"Ha, that should be interesting. What happens if we lose?"

"My ass is forfeit."

"Ouch. Can't let that happen, can we? Besides, I kinda want to see Petrel in a magical girl outfit, Sheryl would get a kick out of that, for sure."

"Yeah, I'll bet she would." Proton sighed. "Alright, alright. Get Seliber over here, and I'll brief you guys on the mission plan, then we shove off, alright? And get him some street clothes, while you're at it, he can't go out in public in his uniform." Decarli saluted, and went to go do just that.

By the time Proton had finished briefing Decarli and Kevin, and by the time they'd gotten Kevin changed into some civvie clothes and made it out to the parking garage, Petrel and his team were already standing around chatting near the twelve-seat passenger van they would be taking to the laser tag arena.

"Hey!" Petrel greeted around a cigarette, "there you are! I was starting to think you'd chicken out. Then I'd win by default."

"We've already had this conversation," Proton replied, smirking, "and there's no way in hell you're gonna win." Petrel laughed his deep laugh, and Proton's smirk twitched into a grin.

"We'll see about that, Pro," the purple executive replied. "If you guys are all set, we can go, Drazen said he'd drive." Decarli leaned to glance around Petrel at Drazen and frowned.

"We're letting _Bernard_ drive?" he asked. "That's a terrible idea if ever there was one."

"He got the keys, first." Petrel shrugged. "You can have shotgun, if you wanna slam the imaginary brakes from time to time. But we have to go, like, now, because Erik could only get us so much time."

"Take it like a man and slam your imaginary brakes." Proton clasped his hand on Decarli's shoulder and gave him a friendly shake before shoving him towards the front passenger seat. "Everyone in the car, let's go! Petrel and I call back!" With excited cheers akin to those twelve-year-olds might produce, the rockets all clambered into the van. Petrel took the win**d**ow seat in the back, Proton sliding in next to him. He would have perfectly fine if Forhan or Peng sat next to him. Hell, he would have been fine if Petrel's boy Shavell sat next to him, and he and Shavell generally didn't get along that well. But, no, the person to take the final back row seat just _had_ to be Kevin. The grunt gave him a strained smile, and he sneered in reply. Petrel smiled **o**ver him as Drazen started the van and began heading for town.

"Hey, there," the purple executive greeted, offering his hand. "You were in Pro's trainee group, weren't you? I don't think we've been properly introduced- I'm Petrel."

"Hello, Executive," the blond replied, reaching out to shake. "Kevin. Kevin Seliber. Watching you guys go at it was just like watching an old kung fu movie, haha." Slowly, Petrel frowned, and pulled his hand back.

"...Seliber?" He turned his gaze to Proton. "Isn't he the one that used to stuff you into your locker?"

"He is, indeed," Proton said. "So you can imagine why I'm not particularly _thrilled_ he's coming with us."

"Yeah, I understand, completely." Petrel eyed Kevin wearily. "But, oh, man, how the tables have turned, huh? Watch your back, man. Proton can hold a hell of a grudge. You're lucky you're on his side, today."

"Y-yeah," Kevin s**t**ammered, "I know..." Petrel's eyes narrowed slightly, and Proton watched on in mild interest as his boyfriend spent several more minutes scrutinizing Kevin intently before cracking open the book he brought with him. The green executive sighed and leaned back into the seat, gazing boredly out the window and wishing he brought one of Petrel's gameboys, or something. He could really go for some Tetris Attack, right now.

"Whatchya readin', P?" he asked when he could stand the awkward back-of-the-car silence no longer. Petrel glanced up from his book and smiled.

"Voltaire," he replied. "_Zadig ou la Destinée_, in the original French." Proton raised an eyebrow.

"Really? I didn't know you knew French."

"Oui, je suis très à l'aise. Envie de baiser?"

"The hell did you even ask me?"

"Just a yes or no question, is all, no worries." Proton eyed him suspiciously and looked to Kevin.

"You took French. Tell me what he asked." Kevin blinked.

"Ahh- _well_... He asked if you wanted to fuck," he said slowly, "so I'm going to assume that means you _are_ gay, after all?"

"Oi, oi, don't tell me you picked on him about that, too," Petrel growled.

"Not at all." The grunt shrugged. "I just always sort of had this feeling about him, though, y'know? I mean, even when we got to highschool he never went out with any chicks."

"I've fucke**d** plenty of chicks, thank you very much," Proton sneered. "And besides, it's kind of hard to get a fuckin' date when you don't even have running water."

"I guess that's true," Kevin conceded. "So... this is where you disappeared to, huh? I gotta say, if I had to chose anyone from our school to go Rocket, you would have been last on the list. ...Then again, you were different, back then."

"Don't fuckin' talk to me like we're still friends." The **g**reen executive's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You lost that right a _long_ time ago."

"Sorry, I just thought... I mean, I'm going to be working under you, now, and Leo's my specialization mentor, so I figured I might as well try to get along with you, and-"

"Look, just stop talking," Petrel cut him off. "He obviously isn't interested in hearing your damned excuses. Shut up and keep your touchy-feely shit to yourself." Proton smirked as Kevin lowered his head sheepishly and turned to stare out the other window. He didn't miss, of course, how Petrel was glaring death at the blond- yeah, okay, sure, Petrel had gotten a little overprotective with him, before, like that time they got arrested, but somehow, this seemed different; the man was being unusually forward with his aggression, not even bothering to mask it with one of his serene smiles.

Proton had to say, he wasn't entirely surprised when one of Petrel's arms wrapped tightly around his waist and pulled him closer to the purple executive. (On that note, none of them, except maybe Decarli, were wearing seatbelts- they were Rockets, after all, seatbelt laws could go fuck themselves.) In fact, it was kinda funny, and though under normal circumstances Proton would protest to snuggling with other people present, just seeing Petrel actually giving the back of Kevin's head a look that said quite plainly "he's mine, bitch, back off" was worth it enough. Of course, then Petrel and Kevin met gazes once more and Proton could practically feel the sparks of rivalry flying in front of him; before he knew what hit him, Petrel had practically pulled him onto his lap, tugged lightly at his hair to make his head tilt back, and initiated a rather heated make-out session.

"Wha-?! The fuck?!" Proton shoved him away after a stunned second, scowling. "There are fuckin' _people_ in the ca**r**, dumbass!" Petrel gave him a scowl of his own in return.

"Fuck them," he hissed into his ear. "I don't want that motherfucker getting any ideas about you. You're _mine_, Lance, and I don't want there to be any mewdamn questions about it."

"Fuck off," Proton snapped, "and save it for the arena. You can beat the shit out of him, then, and once you win _then_ we can make out." Petrel pouted and went back to his book.

After a little while of Drazen driving like a maniac, Decarli slamming his imaginary breaks and swearing every few seconds, and Proton stuck between his jealous, horny boyfriend and old nemesis, they finally pulled up to the laser tag **b**uilding and headed inside. There were a few families there for a birthday, it seemed, and they cast the twelve Rockets odd looks now and then, but mostly seemed to deem them harmless. Petrel strode right up to the front desk and smiled at the bespectacled man tending it.

"Good morning," the man greeted jovially, "nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

"It would be the perfect day for a shuttle launch," Petrel agreed. The man nodded.

"Once second, sir. We have a party of nine still inside; I'll hasten their departure."

"Thanks, man, I owe you one." The man tending the counter, who Proton assumed was Petrel's buddy Erik, left to slip into a room labeled "employees only", and in the meantime, the twelve Rockets broke into their battle buddy pairs. Proton was able to put h**i**s hatred of Kevin aside long enough to drag him over to the monitor that displayed a live feed of the arena, pointing out any and all strategic positions he could find whilst making his newest subordinate take note of everything. Petrel did the same thing with Drazen, though Proton could see the purple executive shooting Kevin dark glances every now and then out of the corner of his eye.

Once he'd gotten Kevin to draw a semi-accurate-looking map, they'd gone back to the rest of the Security team and had everyone huddle around it, where Proton began to rebrief everyone on the plan and give a final marking of the points of interest to be guarded once they took Petrel out. Around that time, Erik came back, smiling and bidding the families that had been there goodbye before beckoning to the Rockets, who turned and followed him into the room with the tag vests.

"I apologize for the wait," the spy said, "some kid was having a birthday party and I had to end their timer early before I could change the game's protocol. It is now running on a twenty-five minute timer; only the receptors on the chest and back are active- hitting the shoulders or waist will do nothing to your opponent. When you are hit, the LED screen on the back of your gun will darken; normally, it would light back up after a few seconds and you would be able to continue shooting, however it was specifically requested for this battle that you get one life, each. When you are hit, you will return to this room. We will broadcast a live feed of the battle through the monitors, here. " He motioned to the two TVs mounted near the ceiling. "A**h**, and for the record, friendly fire is _on._ Please choose your sides and proceed to your starting positions- in a few minutes, I will activate the vests, and you can begin. Good luck." With a bow, the spy left, and Proton turned to Petrel.

"My team calls green," he said. Petrel snorted.

"Of course it does. Fine." He herded his team over to the red vests, and Proton smirked, going over to try and find a green one that would fit him. Several minutes later found Proton and Kevin crouched behind a half-wall, laser guns clutched tightly in their grasps as they waited for the training to begin.

"Are you nervous?" Kevin asked quietly. Proton rolled his eyes.

"Of course not, idiot. I've done this hundreds of times. Don't tell me _you_ are?" The grunt stared down at his gun.

"I know it's just laser tag," he admitted, "but we're supposed to be pretending it's real. And it's different shooting at paper targets or plastic dummies than it is at shooting real people. Why do we only get one life, anyways?"

"That's something to take up with Lugia when you die, Seliber."

"You know what I mean."

"I do. And it's a fuckin' stupid question. We only get one life because we only _get_ one life. You screw up in the field, you don't come back. Now, shut up before you give us away." Kevin sighed, and Proton rolled his eyes and shook his head before standing just enough to peer over the short wall; no one in sight. That was okay. They weren't trying to lure any of the others out- only Petrel. And Proton had a sneaking suspicion that, with Kevin as his battle buddy, it would be a lot easier than he had initially planned it to be. All they had to do was wait for the vests and guns to be activated.

Which, apparently, happened to be that exact second.

With a flash of color and a simultaneous "battle mode activated" from a very weird robot-alien voice sounding through each vest's speakers, the game had begun. A team from the Medical department ran by them from the right, but Proton motioned for Kevin to hold his fire, and once they had passed, the two waited a second and then followed them, laser guns at the ready. Eventually, they ended up at an opening, with the two Medical buddies- if he could remember correctly, Jaffee and Mitford- and he motioned for his subordinate to stop.

"Alright," he whispered, "here's how this is gonna work. I'm gonna run out and get their attention, and when their back is turned, you shoot. Decarli said you had the highest score out of the new grunts at the range- let's see what you got."

"Yes, sir!" Kevin whispered in reply. Proton nodded in satisfaction and stood at his full height, taking a single second to mentally prep himself, and then ran out from his cover, shooting randomly as he avoided their counter-attacks. He could have sworn they almost hit him a few times, but soon enough Jaffee's vest blinked out, and Mitford whipped around to see Kevin taking his time and aiming carefully. Proton made to shoot at her while she was distracted, but she dodged it, turned tail, and ran, while Jaffee pouted.

"Dammit," she muttered, "thanks for nothing, Veronika... Good game, Executive. I'll see you outside." She bowed to him, smiled at Kevin, and headed for the nearest exit.

"Not bad," Proton admitted once she was gon**e**, "but you need to be faster. You could have had both of them. Well, either way, I guess it's good she got away- let's head back towards the center."

"Yes, sir. I'll cover your tail." Kevin smiled and Proton mostly ignored him, strafing into another hallway. With any luck, Petrel would be doing his usual mandibuzz-esque strategy of circling the center of the arena, picking off anyone who neared, and _one_ of them would able to catch him off-guard. However, before they could get anywhere **n**ear the center, they heard a startled cry from far off to the left- Decarli, Proton recognized. Of course the moron would get himself into trouble, working with Forhan. Of-fucking-_course_.

"Fuck," he muttered, "change of plans, we're going to back up Decarli!" Without waiting for Kevin's agreement, he dodged and **w**eaved his way between barriers, sliding around corners, until he finally got to the source of the battle- Decarli was pinned down behind a half-wall by Shavell and Katayama, with Forhan nowhere to be seen. Despite his best attempt to fight them off, Petrel's admins were slowly gaining ground on him, and as he had no other cover to retreat to, he was akin to a sitting psyduck. Well, a sitting psyduck with a gun, but still, a psyduck, nonetheless. Scowling, Proton raised his laser gun and aimed, taking Shavell down easily. As Katayama turned to shoot at Proton, Decarli popped up from behind his half-wall and shot her in the back, felling her, as well, and the two muttered darkly as they left, together.

"Not a moment too soon, eh, sir?" Decarli laughed. "Thanks, for that. Forhan is down; I've no idea how Heim and Peng are doing, but I saw them run to the far side of the arena maybe a minute ago."

"Just glad to see you're still in the fray, Decarli," Proton replied, "and now I don't owe you for savin' my ass, last time. Go and meet up with Heim and Peng, if you can- prepare an ambush for the center. I'm headin' in with the new guy. Seliber, you ready?"

"Like I said, sir, I got your tail."

"Good. And quit with the obnoxious smile, it's gettin' annoying."

"Sorry, sir."

"I should be able to have Heim and Peng in position in three minutes, tops," Decarli said, twirling his gun around his finger. Proton nodded to him, and he turned, heading off with a murmured "Leo used extremespeed". The green executive motioned for his Grunt to follow him, and they began working their way back around to the middle. Along the way, they ran into Peng, who apologized profusely to Proton before continuing on towards the exit. Eventually, they found their way to the middle; the cover there was an arrangement of curved walls forming a large circle with a smaller circle of half-walls inside it, and a single pillar inside _that_, making for some interesting tactical maneuvers. Proton directed Kevin towards a half-wall to hide behind, and he himself clung to the pillar in the middle, ignoring every instinct he had to go prone and wait for people to start running by so he could shoot at them. He was supposed to be the bait, after all- though it seemed he wouldn't have to wait _too_ long. There was a flash of red in the distance, and though it might have been the lighting, he could have sworn whoever it was had purple hair- Petrel, he assumed. This would go quickly.

"Hey!" he shout**e**d. "What, P, you too scared to face me head-on, bitch?! C'mon, let's fuckin' do this man-to-man!" He raised his gun, aiming, and smirked as the glowing red came closer and closer. He backed up slowly, one step at a time, and waited for Kevin to pop up and shoot Petrel; when the lights went out on the approaching red vest, he grinned, and took another step back to see if there was someone in the other direction- however, he backed into something rather sturdy, and his eyes widened. Oh, this could not _possibly_ be good, not at _all_.

"You know," came Petrel's deep voice in his ear, "you have quite the filthy mouth. I'll have to do something about that over the weekend."

"You're an idiot for coming here," Proton said, "I've got my boys surrounding us. Even if you shoot me, they'll take you down, and then your little team will be out of luck."

"Oh?" Petrel asked, "you mean Decarli, Heim, and Seliber?" He laughed, and Proton felt warm breath on the back of his neck, making him shiver. "Drazen took care of Decarli and Heim- it's a shame you took him out, just now, but I suppose since he never had a chance against you, in the first place, it's alright. I shot Seliber, myself- hopefully I taught the little prick a good lesson."

"Well, then. I guess that means I'm at your mercy."

"I guess it does." Petrel spun him around, smirking as he pressed the barrel of his gun to Proton's back. "Why, isn't this intimate? I can look into those pretty, pretty eyes of yours when I shoot you." Proton snickered in reply.

"As if."

He pushed himself back and raised his gun, preparing himself to shoot, but Petrel was faster, and he grabbed Proton, digging his fingers into the tendons of his forearm before throwing him to the ground. The force made him lose his grip, and his gun clattered to the floor behind him. Desperately, he pushed himself to his knees and lunged for it, but his fingertips barely brushed it before Petrel kicked him, hard, in the side, forcing him away from it and rolling him onto his back. Proton tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but his purple-haired lover merely placed his foot on his chest, just under the receptor, and pressed, forcing him down to the floor and aiming the gun directly at him.

"Bad move, Lance," he said quietly. "You never know when to give up."

"Yeah," Proton agreed, grimacing, "I seem to have a problem with that. You gonna shoot me, or not?" Petrel scowled and his grip tightened on his gun.

"Don't tempt me."

"C'mon. You have me right where you want me. All you gotta do is pull the trigger, and I get to spend all weekend tied the the fuckin' **h**eadboard.. Go ahead. Shoot me."

"Don't patronize me, dammit!"

"I'm not. You win." His finger squeezed the trigger, and his eyes h**a**rdened. Proton waited patiently. The shot never came. Instead, Petrel swore furiously and spun around, throwing his laser gun to the floor.

"Fuck!" he growled. "Why can't I fucking do it?! _Mewdammit_! It's a fucking_ game_!"

Proton's eyes narrowed. He grabbed his gun and pushed himself to his feet, spinning it around before shooting him straight in the back. There was a generic 80's 'power down' sound, and the vest announced in its weird robot-alien voice that the player had been defeated. Petrel froze and turned around, frowning.

"Game over," Proton sneered, "you lose." Without waiting for Petrel to reply, he pushed passed him and made his way out of the arena and back into the prep room to remove his vest. Kevin was wiaint for him.

"Executive," he said meekly, "I'm sorry. I didn't even hear him come up behind me, and he-"

"Don't worry about it." Proton forced a smile. "It was my fault for not warning you. Petrel is a bit of a ninja, sometimes he even takes _me_ by surprise. You did good for your first combat mission, Seliber. We may be able to make an admin out of you, yet."

"Thank you, sir." Kevin smiled. "That means a lot. For what it's worth, I'm... sorry. For how things were, back then."

"Water under the bridge." Proton extended his hand, and Kevin shook it. "Just don't end up a fuckin' pussy like Decarli, and we're good. Also, learn how to write good reports- most of the time I make Decarli do 'em, but somethin' tells me he's gonna dump it all on you, from now on." Kevin laughed.

"I look forward to it."

"Pardon me." Proton started; Kevin jumped nearly a foot. Petrel was giving them a strained smile. "I need to put my vest up, and you two are in the way." They backed off, and the purple executive hung his vest up. Proton frowned and cast Kevin a fleeting glance.

"Go find Decarli. Tell him I said to get everyone rounded up and outside, ready to go. We'll be right out." His underling saluted and scurried off; as soon as the door closed behind him, Petrel whirled around, scowling.

"What the hell were you doing with him?!" he snapped. "Isn't it enough you had to sit next to him on the drive over?!"

"Okay, y'know, at first you getting all jealous and shit was kind of cute," Proton growled in reply. "But now it's just getting fuckin' annoying, and it hasn't even been a day since it started! What, do you not trust me?!"

"Of _course_ I trust you! It's that _grunt_ I don't trust!"

"Then leave it the _fuck_ alone! I can look after myself, asshole!"

"_I don't want him around you_." Petrel **a**dvanced, hands clenched tightly into fists; Proton met his challenge, advancing, as well.

"_Get over it_. He's taking his training from Decarli." Another step closer; he had to tilt his head back to maintain his eye contact with the taller man.

"Well then I want him to _know_ that no matter _what_ he tries, he's _never_ going to get you. I've already told you, Lance, you are _mine_, and I am not going to lose you to _anyone_."

"Well, you have all weekend to leave your mark. He'll know not to even _think_ about trying his luck with me." A hand brushing his hair away from his ear; Pe**t**rel's warm breath on his cheek; eyes black as the void staring intensely into his own. The next thing he knew, they were ki**s**sing, and he was tempted to drag him down to the floor right then and there, waiting subordinates and time constraints be damned, but it was a work day- if Archer somehow managed to find out that they'd slacked off, they'd get in a shitload of trouble, and he didn't want to deal with that, right now. With a sigh, he pulled away.

"You keep saying I'll have all weekend," Petrel murmured, "but I lost. That means Monday is Magical Girl Monday and you hacked my computer for nothing."

"You almost won. That's good enough, I think- but remember, I said none of that piercing shit. Let's get back to base, now, hmm?" Petrel blinked, quite confused, as Proton headed for the door.

"Wait, what...? Did I miss something? That wasn't the bet..." Proton laughed.

"Yeah," he agreed, "but you getting all jealous and possessive made me horny, and I guess I've been a bit curious since I hacked your computer. Now, c'mon, before I change my mind because you were being stupid."

The drive back was much less awkward than the drive there, and a lot more pleasant, too. There wasn't any bickering, Petrel stopped giving Kevin death glares, Decarli continued to slam his imaginary brakes, and Proton didn't complain for a second when his boyfriend pulled him over to cuddle. It had been a good run, and he was certain that, given some time, Kevin would make a pretty good admin; Proton was even considering making him a permanent part of his team, as long as he could improve over the next few combat trainings- and he would definitely be bringing Kevin along on the next few combat trainings. It was a nice change of pace from Carillo.

It was funny, he thought, just what one game of laser tag could change. And to be perfectly honest, he was looking forward to the weekend. If Petrel's password-protected picture folder was any indication, it was going to be _wild_.

* * *

Mornings in the medical wing were always usually quiet; most injuries that needed tending didn't happen until later in the day, usually after lunch. Most people who were there at the moment were there for appointments having to do with illness, and a few were there for some wounds- Proton was there for neither. It was Monday, after all, and with his gloves irritating his fucking rope-burned wrists, he was ready to collect on his bet._ So. Fucking. Ready. _

Re**t**ribution shall be _swift_.

The door to the waiting room opened; the morning's patients glanced up, and their eyes widened in unison; Proton smirked broadly.

Petrel stood there, smiling flirtatiously, clad in a puple-and-black dress, thigh-high black stockings, and a pair of heels. Lace-edged gloves covered his hands, and some frilly collar was tied around his neck with a red ribbon. He held a staff with a crescent moon on the end in his hands, and he glanced out across the room.

"Alright," he said, "who's first?" No one answered- they just sort of sat there, and Proton tried as best he could to not burst out laughing. "...Sooooo... no one? Then why the hell are you all in my waiting room?" Again, there was no answer, and Petrel pouted.

"Petrel!" Proton glanced up as the door to the hallway outside opened, and a certain white-clad, blue-haired executive strolled in, frowning down at a towel he was pressing tightly to his arm. "Petrel, I had a bit of an issue, this morning, I'm sorry, do you think you could take a look at my ar-_what the fuck?!_" Petrel grinned broadly at Archer and twirled his staff around, striking a pose.

"Charm up!" he cried, "Healer Queen Petrel! I will use the power of love to defeat the evil minions of Dark King Sanguines!" Proton couldn't help it; he burst into hysterical laughter, nearly falling from his seat. Archer's eye twitched. "Quickly! Follow me to the Sanctum of Sterility! Time is running out!" Archer stammered a stream of unintelligible words, and Petrel just continued to spew generic-sounding Magical Girl phrases as he grabbed Archer by his not-maimed arm and pulled him through the door to the examination rooms. Proton continued to laugh.

Aw, yeah. Definitely worth it.

* * *

**That chapter took longer than I meant it too. XD; I never thought laser tag could take so much to play out. Oh, well. It was fun. Also, I have some stuff for you guys! Slap 'em on to the end of the deviantart address to find concept art for Kevin and a doodle I did when I meant to be writing this chapter.**

**/art/Slowpoke-Tails-Koffing-Fumes-Concept-Art-Kevin-359763306**

**/art/Petrel-VS-Kevin-359764067**

**If you look in the concept art, Kevin has a rattata, but it doesn't have a name! And I dunno what to call it. D: So, while you were reading, you may have noticed there were some randomly bolded letters hanging around here and there. If you take all of them and rearrange them, you'll get a li'l sentence. :3 The first person to figure it out and leave it in a signed review (I can't reply if you're anonymous D:) gets to choose rattata's name. So if you have the time and the motivation, maybe give it a try!  
**


	28. Silver Blues

Disclaimer: This story is not, nor will it have ever been, a magikarp. Do not try to eat it. It won't work. I know. I've tried.

It was starting to get dark, outside; it was all for the better, really. Archer preferred the night, with the sky black as ink and the stars sparkling brightly. It was much nicer living at the HQ than it would have been living in the city- so many stars showed themselves so far from true civilization, so many constellations that Archer could pick out and name, myths and legends brought to the front of his mind as he stared at them. He couldn't imagine a world in which the stars were invisible, but he assumed it would look much like Goldenrod. It would be a terrible thing.

With a sigh, he tore his gaze away from the beginnings of the remarkable sunset he gazed upon every evening from his office window and turned his attention to the papers littering his frosted glass desk. Some were reports- reports from Ariana, from Proton and Petrel, from labs and strike teams. Some were letters of resignation, from admins who lost faith in The Cause, from teams of grunts who thought they had things more important to do than chase after a man who was long gone. What could _possibly_ have been more important, Archer had scoffed when the first few came in, what could these underlings _possibly_ do that would be more glorious than returning Team Rocket to its rightful status, and its true master? If he had any family beyond Ariana, he wouldn't think twice about sacrificing them for The Greater Good. As it was, he would have sacrificed Ariana if the need had arisen, but it was his sister who had firmly asserted they remain in Team Rocket, anyways, and who was he to argue? Even without the title, she was just as much of an interim boss as he was.

"Archer." Speak of the devil. He hadn't even noticed she'd come in. "Archer, are you alright?" With a sigh, Archer rose from his seat and strode around his desk, bowing politely and raising Ariana's hand to his lips.

"I'm fine, Ari," he said quietly. "It's not I that's dying." Her eyes softened, filled with pity as she wrapped her arms around her brother and gave him a comforting squeeze.

"It's getting bad," she agreed. "I'm not sure if we can afford to continue doing all of this. Archer... We may have to-"

"I know," he cut her off, sighing once more. He rubbed his temples and turned back to his desk, pulling one of the papers off it and showing it to her. "We're losing faster than we're gaining. At this rate, all of our plans will become absolutely impossible. We barely have enough to pay our subordinates, let alone acquire supplies, and none of our previous clients seem to be willing to do business with us. We've run out of pokemon to sell- and let's face it, no one wants to buy a rattata or a zubat, shiny or not. The only money we're making is from whoring our own subordinates to the people of Johto, and it's nowhere near enough." Ariana grimaced and sat on top of her brother's desk.

"Yeah," she said, "about that..." Archer groaned and face-palmed, slumping back into his chair. Coyote, sensing his master's distress, got up from his doggie bed in the corner and placed his head on the blue executive's lap, nudging at his free hand with his nose. Absent-mindedly, the executive began stroking the houndoom's soft head.

"Was it the IP?"

"No, EPD. Our hookers are in the slammers and they took the building. We literally no longer have an income."

"That's three times we've failed, now. Though I suppose this time, at least, it wasn't by the hand of a child, which is a relief in and of itself."

"I was actually meaning to talk to Petrel about everything- he's friends with some small-time black market dealers, and I figured it would be easier to start selling to them than to try and jump right back in with our regulars."

"What would you even propose we sell?"

"That I'm still working on. The best I have right now is heroin, but it would take some time to get a drug cartel rolling. We might even fall apart just trying that."

"Well, it's as good an options as any we have, right now. You'll have to wait to talk to him, I'm afraid, I sent he and Proton out yesterday."

"Just the two of them? No back-up?"

"Not for what I need them to do. The IP is still swarming around the old Kanto HQ, to try and send more than a handful of agents in-"

"You sent them to the old base?" Ariana's eyes widened, and Archer nodded solemnly at her. It was the ginger's turn to groan, this time, and she hunched over, holding her head in her hands. "_Archer_... why would you even _do_ that?"

"We needed supplies," her brother replied simply. "I'd bet my office there's still plenty in the old HQ; hopefully, some cash, as well. Any little bit we can get helps, Ariana, and if this it what it takes..."

"But what if they get _caught_, again? Even if we wanted to, we wouldn't be able to afford their bail, and after _last time_ their security is bound to be even tighter! I _still_ don't even understand how they got out of there, the first time!" Archer offered her a small smile, and she scowled.

"Oh, it's actually quite amusing when you get it all laid out, you see, Petrel had his koffing use smog, and while the guards outside their interrogation room were coughing, he used the jar of Nutella to-"

"On second thought, I don't think I _want_ to know."

The blue-haired executive laughed and reached down to lift his houndoom fully into his lap, hugging him close to his chest as he turned back to stare out of his window.

"Either way," he said, "I wouldn't worry about either of them, if I were you. They're both capable- all we have to hope is that there's something left for them to return with."

Neither of the two pointed out just how little hope had done for them, in the past.

* * *

It was starting to get dark- cold, too, though Proton supposed it was to be expected- it was December, after all. As he peered over the top of the boulder he was currently crouched behind, he pulled his winter uniform's jacket tighter around him, waiting. Watching. He'd never thought he'd ever have to sneak into a Team Rocket base, before. Next to him was Petrel- he was shivering terribly, his body in no way fit for cold weather, and even with his jacket Proton was sure the cold was biting right through to the man's bones.

"Can we go in, yet?" the green executive whispered boredly. "We've been sitting out here all day. My ass is sore." It was a testament to just how serious their current situation was that Petrel didn't make one of his many shitty, perverted jokes that he usually handed out like candy, and on one hand, Proton was kind of pissed off by that- he'd been bored since lunch (consisting of a single granola bar they had to split), and Petrel barely talking wasn't helping matters.

"Not yet," Petrel whispered in reply. "They should be coming back around front in a few minutes. Once they pass, we go in." Proton rolled his eyes and groaned melodramatically, but Petrel payed him no mind and continued to stare at the large metal wall that, at one point in time, probably meant a lot more to him than it did, now.

"You know, when Archer told us he wanted supplies from this old ghost-town, I didn't think it would take us _this_ long."

"I don't know what to tell you, Pro. Security's been tight all day. You saw what it was like when we tried to go in, earlier, we wouldn't have been able to even get in the grounds."

"At least we're not in the tree, anymore, I guess." With another sigh, the green executive turned away and sat down fully, leaning back against the boulder as he pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them loosely. "You know, it's almost Christmas."

"Yeah. I know."

"Did you want to do anything, this year?"

"You know I don't celebrate holidays."

"Ha, yeah. It was a like a fuckin' _war_ when I wanted to decorate the first year we were livin' together. I remember you only let the tree stay because Twitch made a nest on one of the branches and you thought it was too cute to stop. But we have to do somethin'. For Silver's sake."

"Oh, right, it's his birthday, isn't it? I almost forgot. Shit, we need to get him something."

"Get him a cake or some shit. We can barely afford to eat as it is. I was pissed when Archer told us we weren't getting our paychecks, anymore."

"He had to save the money for the grunts and admins. Even then, he had to cut pay across the board. That's why we're out here, after all."

"Yeah." They were silent, again, watching and waiting and waiting and waiting for members of the IP squad to pass by the front once more so they could have a clear shot at the building. It seemed to take an eternity, and once or twice Proton's stomach protested at not having dinner; Petrel offered each time to go looking for some berries, saying they could wait until the next patrol came around, but Proton declined his offer- they couldn't afford to waste the time, he had replied, and Petrel didn't push the issue. Finally, however, two pairs of IP agents passed in front of the wall, each heading in a different direction, and Petrel and Proton exchanged glances, nodding to each other. As soon as the two pairs had disappeared, they made their move.

The wall was tall- too tall to vault over, even if one stood on the other's shoulders, and any branches that had hung over the wall had long ago been cut. With no friendly unit working the gates, it would be a stupid move to try and head in through the front, but thankfully, they had a different plan. Petrel released Monoxide from his pokeball and took a quick second to pet him, asking him to ferry the two over the wall. The koffing happily agreed, and once Petrel had managed to get a good grip on him, inflated himself, rising higher and higher until the purple executive was able to hop on top of the wall. After that, the koffing drifted back down and waited for Proton to do the same. When they were both at the top, Petrel recalled Monoxide.

"You deserve a good rest, buddy," he whispered before turning an amused glance to Proton. "You need your own damn koffing. I think that was a little much for him."

"Maybe _you_ just need _more_ koffing," Proton replied cheekily. "Get a full team of them, then we'll talk." Petrel couldn't help but laugh, and they took a moment to prepare themselves before leaping from the top of the wall, landing and rolling to a stop on the grass below. They crouched, waiting, as an IP member passed by with a flashlight- it was a good thing it was so dark, Proton mused, otherwise they definitely would have been caught. Once the man's back was turned, they got up and bolted, running towards the nearest entrance to the main base, which just so happened to be through the parking garage. All it took was a quick swipe of Petrel's ID through the reader next to the door, and the bolt unlocked, allowing the two executives to sneak inside.

The lights were out; no one else seemed to be in the hallway besides the two of them. Just as well, Proton thought, it would make their whole job a lot easier. He fished a slip of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, holding it up to his pokegear's light to study it.

"Alright," Petrel said, "what do we need?"

"Well, this either says 'medical supplies' or 'ketchup'. I'm going with 'medical supplies'. Archer needs to work on his handwriting."

"It's not _bad_."

"It's not _bad_ but I can't _read_ it. It's too small and cramped and fancy, the jerk." Petrel shook his head and snatched the paper out of Proton's hand, squinting at the fine print.

"Medical supplies, extra uniforms, MREs, any leftover cash we can find lying around, and project files two-thirty-four through three-fifty-seven." He frowned. "Damn, that's a lot of files... how does he expect us to carry that all back?" Proton snatched the paper back from him and proceeded to shove him towards the wall.

"Idiot," he snickered, "that's _just_ files two-three-four and three-five-seven, not all of 'em in between. We'll be fine. So, I figure med supplies in the med wing, files in administration, everything else from the supply offices?"

"Yeah." Petrel nodded. "Shall we split up, or go together?"

"Split up, you to the med wing, me to administration, we meet up at the supply offices in thirty minutes. You got your comm?"

"Let me make sure it's on... which channel?"

"Six, as usual. We're the only ones here, not like it would matter."

"Alright- be safe. See you in thirty."

With a quick bro-fist, the two were off, heading down the hallway in opposite directions. Even if the generators were still on- and Proton highly doubted that was the case- elevators made too much noise, and like in every stealth game he'd ever watched Petrel play on his computer (he was convinced the man was compensating for something), noise gets one caught. So, he was forced to find the stairs and jog up several flights until he hit the top floor, where the administration offices had once been. It was weird to see the HQ so empty and deserted- granted, he'd only visited a handful of times before his mission, usually with Petrel to drop in on Hunter and Viper for dinner and family drinking-game night, which, incidentally, was the reason for many scoldings and lectures from Archer. But even then, he'd seen plenty of Rockets wandering the halls, Grunts and Admins and one or twice even those snobbish Kanto executives who thought they even _compared_ to Proton and his coworkers from Johto. It occurred to him, as he picked the lock into one of the many rooms filled with filing cabinets, that if _he_ thought it was weird, Petrel must have been taking it pretty hard- the man had _lived_ there, after all, and for quite some time- and now here it was, a hollow corpse of what was once a thriving almost-city.

Of course, corpses were meant to be looted, and that was exactly what he was sent there to do. He hurried towards the back, using his pokegear's light to look at the labels on all the different cabinets as he tried to find the numbers he needed. Once, Proton had heard they were going to transport their files to a computerized database, but he supposed that never actually got finished. It made everything a pain in the ass, now, though. Eventually, he came across a cabinet with the labels "200-300" and "300-400" stuck on the front drawers, and with an annoyed huff, he pulled open the top drawer and started leafing through folders. After going through the drawer literally five times, he eventually came to the conclusion that the file was no longer there, and so he closed that drawer and moved onto the bottom one, finding file three-five-seven almost immediately. Quickly, he leafed through it- more shit on radios, it looked like, not like he was surprised- and stuffed it into his backpack.

"Petrel," he said, pressing his comm piece, "one was gone, I got the other. I'm going to go ahead to the supply offices. How are things on your end?"

"_Ah... about that_," Petrel replied a moment later. Proton frowned.

"What did you do, _this time_?"

"_Well, I'm locked in an office in the medical wing with a guy trying to get in and presumably shoot or KO me, so, less of what __**I**__ did and more of what __**he's**__ doing. Think you could give a guy a hand?_" With an exasperated sigh, the green executive shifted his backpack slightly so he could reach into his back pocket and pull out his switchblade.

"I'll be there ASAP. Hang tight, your knight in shining armor is on his way."

"_More like my bloody princess, but, I'll take what I can get_."

"If you ever refer to me as a princess, again, _Healer Queen Petrel_, you can expect to be sleeping on the couch."

"_Yes, sweetheart. Hurry?_" Proton didn't need telling twice- as soon as he was sure he'd secured his backpack and got a decent grip on his knife, he left the filing room and dashed off down the halls, taking the stairs down a level and stopping several times to avoid IP agents on patrol. Eventually, he found his way to the medical department, and it looked like something straight out of that zombie apocalypse TV show they'd started airing on RBC in the base, with supplies and carts and papers scattered everywhere. Even though Proton knew zombies didn't exist, he kept expecting one to pop up whenever he turned a corner. Petrel owed him, big. Fuckin' zombies.

It didn't take him long to find the room Petrel was holed up in- the IP agent outside was busy trying to pick the lock, something Proton had always thought those motherfuckers held themselves above. Also, they tended to usually just kick offending doors down, so that was kinda weird, but, whatever- that wasn't really a pressing concern. The agent was so wrapped up in trying to pick the lock that the green executive had no problem in sneaking up behind him, covering his mouth with his hand, and stabbing him quickly, once in each lung, before slitting the man's throat and letting the body drop to the floor.

"Alright," Proton said into his comm link, "he's down, c'mon out." Cautiously, the door opened, and Petrel poked his head out, smiling when he saw Proton standing over the agent's body.

"I knew I could count on you to save me," he said. "I've got as much as I can get, for now. If we need more Archer can just send me on a second trip. Now all we need are the MRE's and the uniforms, right?"

"MRE's, uniforms, and cash," Proton agreed. "We head back up one floor, we get our shit, we get out- nice and easy." At a slower pace, this time, the two crept their way back towards the stairs, managing to avoid most of the IP agents wandering the abandoned halls. Proton had to admit, though, he would have preferred to kill all of them rather than just take the long way around- Petrel refused, however, claiming it would make their objective that more difficult to obtain when the entire IP force realized they were there- it wasn't even part of their mission, anyways, and so, with much muttered complaining, they avoided any and all possible confrontations.

They were just about to turn a corner when Petrel swore under his breath and grabbed Proton by the shoulder, pulling him back and quickly pressing the both of them against the wall. After waiting silently for a moment, he peered one eye around the corner and frowned.

"What is it, P?" Proton sighed.

"Two guys," Petrel replied, "both of them guarding the door to the supply offices. It's been nearly a year since the raid, I didn't think they'd have anyone just sitting there."

"If it's just two guys, we can take 'em." The green executive leaned around his boyfriend and furrowed his brow thoughtfully before pulling back. "Alright, yeah, this should be easy enough. You go down a few halls and make some noise, get their attention. Chances are, only one will go to investigate- you take care of him. When the other guy figures something's up and he turns his back, I'll take _him_ out. Simple as pie."

"You know, I've always resented that statement," Petrel mused, "pie is _not_ simple, especially if you're making everything from scratch. I tried to make a wildberry pie, once, and _ugh_, it came out _terrible_. Then again, I was using a crappy oven and I'd gotten all of my groceries from the convenience store downstairs, but, still..."

"So _that's_ what that smell was, that day. Huh." Proton shook his head. "Alright, c'mon, let's do this so we can actually sleep in our own bed, tonight. I miss my pillow." Petrel rolled his eyes.

"You _never_ use your pillow," he protested, "you always sleep on _me_. I don't understand why you even have the fuckin' thing, anymore..." Before Proton could counter-protest, the taller executive was gone, wandering down the last intersection they had passed, and he huffed, upset at not being able to get the last word as he so loved to do. A few seconds later, however, and he once more peeked around the corner, waiting for Petrel to make his move. Soon enough, there was a loud clattering sound and some rather creepy-sounding laughter coming from down the hall. If Proton hadn't known any better, and if he believed in the sort of thing, he would have been absolutely convinced it was a ghost- and to be honest, the two IP agents looked a little spooked as they turned to each other.

"...Wanna go check it out?" the one on the left said. The other gave him an incredulous look.

"You can, if you want," he said, "it's probably just a rattata, though..." The first laughed nervously at that.

"Yeah, right, look at you, shivering in your boots!" he said. "You probably think it's a ghost or something."

"You never know!" the second defended, looking somewhat hurt at the accusation. "I mean, this is Team Rocket we're talking about, and you saw what it was like down... downstairs... You know, in the b-basement? Back when we first took the building?" The first grimaced.

"Don't remind me," he said, shuddering. "I had nightmares for days after seeing what they did to some of those poor bastards, down there." Proton smirked to himself. If they thought what happened in _Kanto_ was bad, he should invite them to see what _his_ dungeon was like. Only Petrel, Archer, and Decarli had ever braved the inside, and Decarli had run to the nearest bathroom and vomited the second he had left the room, while Petrel always seemed revolted by the smells, and Archer always walked on eggshells as if afraid to set him off while they were down there.

"Either way," the IP agent on the right said, "one of us has to go down and check it out."

"I'll go," the left one offered, "like you said, it's probably just a rattata. I'll be right back."

"Be careful."

The agent walked down the hall and out of sight. A few minutes later, when he neither reappeared not called out to let his friend know he was alright, the remaining IP agent began shifting nervously, and after what seemed to be a moment of internal debate, turned and began heading down the hallway, as well. It was then Proton made his move. Quickly and silently, he rounded the corner, approaching the agent from behind and grabbing him in a strangle-hold with his hand covering the man's mouth. The agent began struggling, but Proton reversed his grip on his switchblade and stabbed the man, once, twice, three times in the chest, before wrapping his arms around the man's head and jerking, snapping his neck, and letting the body fall unceremoniously to the floor.

"Nice work," Petrel said as he jogged over. "Now, let's get that door open and get our shit."

"Right on," Proton agreed. He tried the doorknob, and when it was locked, he stood back and waited as Petrel crouched and got out a lock pick, picking said lock. Several second later brought a small clicking sound, and Petrel grinned as he stood up and put his pick away.

"After you, sweetheart."

The room was just as deserted as any other room he'd seen, that day. Proton frowned slightly as he glanced around the supply office, Petrel coming in right after him. Papers all over the floor, drawers half-open and mostly empty... It was a little disheartening.

"They keep the uniforms in boxes, don't they?" Proton asked as he made his way to the far side of the room.

"Yeah," Petrel said, "big ones with labels, you can't miss them. I think they kept the MRE's in boxes, too, but those'll probably be bigger... Might as well get searching." Proton nodded and began glancing through shelving, trying to find any boxes that were left and hadn't had the contents usurped.

"So," he said conversationally as he passed by yet another empty shelving unit, "how does all this make you feel?"

"Don't tell me we're having some bullshit touchy-feely thing going on, now," Petrel laughed. "I thought you weren't into that. Ah, MRE's, here they are... Let's see how many I can fit in my bag..."

"Well, yeah," Proton agreed, "I'm not." He paused to open a decidedly large box and frowned when all it contained were empty pokeballs. "But you used to live here, right? It's gotta be hard to see everything like this." He glanced over to see Petrel shrug as he began to stuff a series of small boxes into his bag.

"Have you ever played _Fallout 3_?"

"No. But I've watched you play it, a bit, does that count?"

"Sure, I guess. Just... when you start, y'know, the story is you're this kid living in this underground vault, and then shit goes down and they're trying to kill you, so you run and open the gate so you can get outside- and then, when you get out, the first thing you see is this blinding sunlight, and as soon as it dies down and you can take a look around, you realize you're looking at the dead, rotted carcass of Nimbasa, and all you can think is 'oh, shit- I've been there, before'."

"You've been to Unova?"

"Yeah, my family's from there. I told you I had a nephew from Unova a few years back, didn't I? Little Grimmy? But, y'know, it's like, you remember getting to spend all this time there, with your family, and you know so many of the buildings and the landmarks and it just _hits you_, that it's gone, and it's never coming back. It's a sad feeling." Proton didn't reply to that. Instead, he tore open another box and smiled when he found it was filled with uniforms, and he grabbed as many as he could fit into his bag and began stuffing them in.

"I guess it's just hard for me to grasp," the green executive admitted when he finally zipped up his bag. "Shit like that just doesn't bother me. I dunno, maybe if it happened to the Johto base and we ever had to go back, I would understand."

"I hope it doesn't happen to the Johto base, I really do." Petrel zipped up his own bag and stood, heading over now to a desk to start tearing through the drawers. "I'm not sure if I could handle that happening to _two_ of my homes. Help me look for cash, yeah?"

"Yeah." They were silent again, now, each of them diligently digging through anything they could find. Eventually, they met back up in the middle of the room and counted how much they'd been able to find- in both real money and counterfeit, they had maybe about eight hundred, but no more than eleven hundred, tops. It was better than nothing, of course, so Petrel shoved that into his backpack, too, and the two of them were just about to leave when the purple executive stopped dead in his tracks. Proton paused and blinked back at him. "What's up?"

"I just had an idea!" his boyfriend said excitedly. "C'mon back in, let's see if there's any pokemon left laying around! Not, like, a zubat or a rattata or anything stupid like that, though, something cool." Proton shrugged.

"Alright, sure, what the hell." And the search was on again, with boxes being torn open, drawers dumped over the floor, and papers sent flying everywhere, making the room look even more of a mess than when they had first come in. Proton was just about ready to give up searching and ask if they could just go home when he found a small red-and-white sphere, and with a smirk, went over to place it on the desk before resuming the hunt. After another good twenty minutes of searching, they'd managed to find a total of five pokeballs between the both of them, and once they were sure that there weren't any left, stood in front of the desk gazing down upon them.

"So, P-trizzle," Proton said after a moment, "what exactly are we doing?" Petrel stoked his goatee thoughtfully as he stared at the pokeballs.

"We're picking out a present for Silver," he said. "It's not like we can afford to get him much more than a cake, but I'd feel bad if he didn't get _something_ cool. He's turning ten, after all, that's a big milestone."

"Oh." Proton frowned. "Then what's wrong with a zubat? You tryin' to tell me Twitch ain't cool?" Petrel laughed.

"Oh, no, I think zubat are pretty neat," he amended, "but kids don't really appreciate them that much. And also, when you send him to wake me up, he uses supersonic and I can't tell which way is the right way out of bed, so, no zubat for Silver. Let's see just what we got here, though..." He grabbed the pokeballs and expanded each of them to get a better view of the monsters suspended in their stases. Proton looked them over, as well. They had a very interesting pool to choose from- a venipede, a poliwag, a psyduck, a sneasel, and a pikachu. Immediately, Petrel pushed the poliwag, psyduck, and pikachu away.

"Between sneasel and venipede, huh?" Proton clicked his tongue. "That's a tough one. I'd worry about the venipede, though, they're poisonous, after all- can you imagine what Ariana would do to us if the kid hurt himself on it?"

"Aw, but look, it's so cute!" Petrel protested. "Besides, scolipede can be fuckin' tanks if you train 'em right, I'd be happier knowing the kid has something to hide behind if he needs it." Proton rolled his eyes.

"No. We're doing the fuckin' sneasel, end of story." Petrel opened his mouth to protest, but Proton had already grabbed the pokeball with the sneasel in it and slipped it into his pocket. "Now, let's get out of here before anyone comes to switch off the guard and finds those two dead. And don't take any of those with you, either, this one was _only_ because Silver needs a present for Christmas; we won't have anything to do with those, anyways." Petrel pouted but didn't say anything as they left the room and began making their way towards the building's exit.

Proton caught a glance of the stars out, high in the sky, as they passed a window. He wondered if what they were bringing back to base with them would even make a difference.

When they had gotten back to base the next day, they reported immediately to Archer's office, and for once, the man was already inside, sitting at his desk. Ariana was sitting next to him, pouring over some plan or another, though they both looked up as the door opened.

"You're back!" Ariana smiled at them tiredly. "We were getting worried, you were taking quite a while."

"Sorry, Ari," Petrel chuckled. "Security was pretty tight during the day, we had to wait for nightfall. But we got most of what you asked us for!"

"How much is 'most'?" Archer asked, standing and walking around his desk to take the backpacks the younger executives offered to him.

"Well," Proton answered, "we got as many uniforms and MRE's and as much medical supplies as we could get our hands on, and about nine hundred bucks in Kanto pokés, give or take, I'm not sure of the current conversion rate. Either way, not enough to get much from our friends in the black market." The white-clad executives exchanged troubled glances.

"Yes, well, about that," Archer said slowly. "We've lost our last clients and suppliers, and as if to add insult to injury, our last method of making a profit got taken by Ecruteak's police force. We're in for some rough times." Petrel sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Dammit," he said, "it's just getting harder and harder, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Ariana agreed, "but we have some ideas, at least, and that will have to do, for now. You two should go rest up, tomorrow we'll all need to sit and discuss our financial matters."

"Alright." Proton nodded to the twins and threw them a quick salute; Petrel did the same. "We'll see you bright and early. Don't worry, we'll find a way to pull through. Oh, and remember- Silver's birthday is this weekend. Come by when you can to see him, he's been asking about both of you, lately."

* * *

The rest of the day went by quick enough. When they'd returned to their apartment, the two had shared a shower, Proton complaining the entire time about the dirt and grime clinging to the both of them, and once they had dried off, the shorter flopped onto the couch with a cheap beer and a bag of cheeze-its while the taller settled himself at his piano and proceeded to play some beautiful, if haunting, melodies. Eventually, Silver had wandered out of his room, and Petrel had insisted on teaching the boy a new song to play, so Proton was able to enjoy some free entertainment as he relaxed. They played until Proton had made dinner, and as the three ate, they watched a family-friendly kung fu movie, which the green executive resented (he'd been looking forward to watching _Gladiator_ like Petrel had promised him when they left) before all of them had been so tired, they'd passed out in the living room.

The next day, the young executives woke early and dressed in fresh uniforms, reporting to Archer's office, while they discussed the possibility of a drug cartel and its advantages and disadvantages. Petrel had brought up the idea of selling ragecandy bars to the public as a possible alternative, and Ariana had agreed with him, which was really all it took to convince Archer of anything. Proton had taken it upon himself to suggest they also attempt selling slowpoke tails, but Archer had just raised an eyebrow at him and said he'd "consider it" as Petrel tried not laugh. That kinda pissed him off. Once their conference had been over, Proton had decided to go down to his private block in the U and punish a few deserters that had been caught recently trying to switch sides to Cipher. He'd brought Kevin with him, telling Decarli that the Grunt had to learn, sooner or later, and he was quite amused after the session when the blond had all but flew into the nearest bathroom and spent the next twenty minutes retching into one of the toilets. It'd been even more hilarious when Seliber had come out, taken one look at his gloves stained in blood, guts, and gore (probably some eye goo, as well), and swiftly about-faced and ran back to the toilets.

Soon enough, it was Saturday, December 24th- Christmas eve, and Silver's birthday. The day began just like any other- the alarm clock went off, buzzing loud and obnoxiously, until Petrel groped for it and hit the off button, curling back up against Proton and sighing in content.

"I don't want to get up," he whispered.

"That's good," Proton murmured in reply, closing his eyes once more, "because neither do I. Sleepy..." Petrel chuckled and kissed his cheek.

"C'mon," he said, "we can't stay in bed forever, however much we want to. It's the kid's birthday, today, gotta get up and make him breakfast. You got his present?"

"Mm-hm. Top of the last bookshelf, he can't reach up there..." Proton whined as Petrel slid out of bed, missing his warmth the instant he was gone, and pouted as his lover began getting dressed for the day. "_Pettreelllll... c'monnnnn_..."

"Sorry, sweetheart, no goofing off, today." Petrel flashed him a smile over his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of jeans. "C'mon, get up, this is the Boss's kid, after all. What happens when Giovanni comes back and Silver just whines and complains about how mean we were to him?" Proton huffed and sat up, running his fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it.

"Fuck Giovanni," he muttered, "this is all his fault in the fuckin' first place." Petrel laughed as he got out of bed and pulled on some casual clothes, as well, before stalking into the bathroom to try, yet again, to fix his hair. When he came back out almost thirty minutes later, so close and yet so far from getting hair to behave, he grabbed his hat and jammed it over his head as he wandered into the kitchenette for some coffee. Silver was sitting at one of the bar stools still clad in his voltorb-print pajamas that he'd suckered Ariana into getting for him once upon a time, unsmiling, yet his brightly shining eyes betrayed his excitement.

"Good morning," he said softly. Proton merely grunted at him and poured himself a mug of the scorching brew. Once upon a time, Petrel scolded him for not being polite to the kid; now, it was just commonplace, and none of them really seemed to mind. "Where were you guys the past few days?"

"What, you lonely?" Petrel asked. "I thought you were staying with Archer and Ariana while we were gone."

"Archer's scary," Silver admitted, swinging his feet. "And both of them are always busy."

"Archer, scary?" Proton snorted. "Grow up, kid, you're ten, now. Man, if your dad heard you thought _Archer_ was _scary_..." Silver's brow furrowed in an attempted scowl.

"Don't tell him," he said. "When he gets back, don't tell him. He'll get mad at me."

"Oh?" The green executive smirked, amused. "And what'll you do to me if I _do_ tell him?"

"If you tell him I said Archer was scary, I'll tell him what I saw you guys doing last week." The smirk vanished from Proton's face and he choked on his coffee.

"Hey," Petrel said, turning to point his spatula at the boy, "_you_ were supposed to be at that Argent kid's place all night, anyways, you weren't supposed to be even relatively _close_ to here during that." Silver shrugged.

"I forgot my pajamas."

"No excuse- it was your own fault." Petrel turned back to the frying pancakes to hide his grin, though he maintained his even, chiding tone. "Now you know to _knock_ before you start opening doors all willy-nilly. Here, have some pancakes. They're funfetti." He turned and presented the boy with a small stack of pancakes before reaching for some blackberries and proceeding to start on another stack.

"So, kid," Proton said once he'd gotten his breath back, "what do you wanna do, today? It's your birthday, after all, according to Archer it's in the rules we bow to every little whim."

"So if I told you to clean my room, you'd do it?"

"Fuck no. I don't listen to Archer."

"But if it's in the rules, and my dad made the rules, you gotta do it."

"It's_ not_ in the rules, smartass." The swears earned him a dry stare from Petrel, which he ignored. Silver poked a bit at one of his pancakes that was shaped like a tirtouga, and raised an eyebrow, giving him an expression remarkably similar to one Archer would give him if he suggested something the man found absolutely ridiculous.

"Archer's smart. If he says it's in the rules, that means it's in the rules, and someone had to make it."

"I'm not cleaning your room. Now what the fuck do you want to do for your birthday?" Silver pouted when he recognized his defeat, but nonetheless he considered the question, continuing to poke at his pancakes

"We're not allowed to go out, are we?" he asked, almost sadly. "Ariana said it's dangerous outside the base."

"Sorry, kiddo," Petrel sighed, "but she has a point, we're not as strong as we were with your dad in charge. Now we always seem to have Cipher and the cops breathing down our neck." It was a sign of just how well they'd been able to raise the boy that he managed an actual scowl at the mention of the police and of Rocket's rival team. "And I won't lie to you, either, we're running low on cash, so we don't have many options. But we can do anything you want on-base, and the grounds are big enough to play in. You wanna go make some snowmon or have a snowball fight, or something?" Silver shook his head, his long red hair coming loose and falling in his face.

"It's more fun to just watch it snow," he said. "Can we play chess?"

"Of course can. Once we finish breakfast, Pro'll clean up, and you and I can go a few rounds." Proton scowled even as he accepted the plate of pancakes from Petrel.

"How come _I_ gotta clean up?" he grumbled. Petrel grinned at him.

"You were the last one out of bed," he said. "'I cook, you clean'- isn't that how this usually works?" Proton swore under his breath and rolled his eyes, muttering something about how they were gaining up on him and it was _so_ unfair. Laughing, Petrel made himself his own stack of pancakes and joined the two for breakfast. The instant the purple executive had finished and set his fork down, Silver had jumped down from his seat, grabbed Petrel by the wrist, and pulled him over to the coffee table as Proton collected the dishes and set about cleaning the kitchen.

Once he'd finished cleaning, he'd switched places with Petrel to allow the man some time to use the restroom, and was surprised when Silver nearly schooled him. The kid was smart, he thought- smart, and patient. Not nearly aggressive enough, of course, but he was learning. He wasn't at all timid as he'd been when he had first entered the full-time care of the Executives- when he had first come with Archer and Ariana from Kanto, he always stared at his feet when he was talking to any of them besides Petrel, and he was quiet and respectful. Now, he stared each of them dead in the eye, observant and unafraid, learning from example. He'd seen the boy imitate everything from Ariana's manipulative charm to Petrel's smoking habit, though the latter they'd had to reprimand the boy for severely, earning a defiant glare that Petrel had later likened to Proton's whenever Archer had tried to pick on him in the past. He'd overheard plenty from the executives, learning their ticks and jargon, and Ariana had recounted to him once that, when they had first realized how quickly they were losing money, Silver had disappeared and turned up a few hours later with a gold nugget that he'd placed quietly on her desk when he thought she hadn't noticed him. He would, Proton mused, make a remarkably good Rocket, some day. Perhaps not all was lost, after all.

Eventually, the boy grew bored of chess, and Petrel had suggested they play board games, resulting in the two young men getting their asses kicked at both _Monopoly_ and _Battleship _by the kid, though they were able to even the playing field with _Cluedo_, and eventually, they were joined by Archer and Ariana, who wished Silver a happy birthday and sat down to join them. When they grew bored of board games, Petrel had turned on the TV and handed the remote to Silver, who stared at it for all of ten seconds before 'stealthily' placing it on the armrest next to Archer in favor of playing with Coyote, who was happy enough with the development. Archer had then turned the channel to the news, and the four of them simply talked- not about work, not about their financial issues, just about life and their pasts and whatever interesting or funny stories came to mind. Proton managed to get all of them laughing, even the blue-haired interim boss himself, with a rather amusing account of a science fair gone awry, and Petrel told grand tales of his conquests during his trainee days, regaling all of them. Ariana had her own fair share of funny memories, most of them having to do with Archer being ridiculously over-protective of her, and her brother simply gave his input in the form of indignant remarks, firmly standing by all of his past actions, ridiculous or otherwise.

Soon enough, they had dinner- Proton tried to feed them all slowpoke tail, but Petrel caught on to his shenanigans in time- and brought out a cake for Silver once they finished, and after they sang the boy 'Happy Birthday', he made a wish and blew out the candles.

"What did you wish for, sweetie?" Ariana asked as she cut him a rather large slice of the delicious confection. Silver blinked up at her with a serious expression.

"I can't tell you," he said, "if I do, then the Christmas Delibird won't bring it."

"Don't worry, he won't hear us," Petrel chimed in. "We made sure to bug-proof the room, before you woke up. He hasn't heard a thing all day." Silver's gaze became troubled.

"Then how will he know we're here?" he asked. "What if he thinks we're gone because he couldn't hear us, and then he doesn't come, at all?" At Ariana's sharp expression, Proton hastily turned his laugh into a cough.

"We've already informed him that we will, indeed, be here for the night," Archer comforted, taking a small sip of his tea. "Don't worry. He'll come." Visibly relieved, Silver gave a slow nod.

"Alright. Well..." He glanced around the room just to be sure before leaning forward conspiratorially. "I wished for a pokemon." Archer and Ariana exchanged a glance.

"A pokemon, eh?" Petrel repeated. "That's pretty cool. Hey, y'know, if you could choose between a poison-type tank or a dark-type sweeper, which would you go for?" Silver blinked at him.

"A poison-type with a lot of defense, or a quick, powerful dark-type," Proton simplified. Silver blinked at him, too.

"Well... I guess the dark type. I like dark better than poison." Proton sent a smug look in Petrel's direction, and the purple executive in question pouted. Ariana and Archer looked quite confused by the whole conversation.

"Well... hurry and eat your cake, sweetie," Ariana said after a long silence. "Once you're done, you can go to bed- the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner the Christmas Delibird gets here." That's all it took; soon Silver eating his slice with gusto, earning himself several warnings from Archer to actually chew before he swallowed, and not long after, he was changed and ready for bed. Ariana went with him to tuck him in.

"What was that all about?" Archer asked after making sure the boy's door was closed. "We don't have a pokemon to give him, why are you even getting his-"

"Oh, sorry, we didn't tell ya?" Proton grinned. "P got the great idea to get a pokemon while we were in the old base. We got the kid a sneasel. My idea, though, Petrel wanted to get him a venipede." Archer's nose scrunched in a grimace.

"A _venipede_?" He shook his head. "That would have been a _terrible_ idea."

"Yeah, that's what I told him." Archer snorted and stood as he saw his sister returning.

"Well, we'll be back in the morning to check on him," Ariana said. "Thanks for having us over, boys." She took a moment to press a kiss to both of their foreheads (Proton protested vehemently), and then headed for the door with her brother and his houndoom in tow. Once they left, Petrel sighed and turned his gaze to Proton.

"Soooo... bed?" he asked.

"It's only nine thirty," the green executive protested. "And we have to put the kid's presents out, too, once it's a bit later. We might as well stay up." Slowly, Petrel smirked.

"I never said _anything_ about sleeping, sweetheart."

"...Well, then, that's different. But we have to stay quiet, if Silver walks in on us _again_, we'll _never_ live it down."

"Oh, well, in that case, I'll just gag you like I did last time."

"Perv."

* * *

He couldn't sleep. Twisting and turning, his hands clutched the sheets tightly as he tried to rest, so when next he opened his eyes, it would be morning, and the Christmas Delibird would have been long gone, the only hint of its existence the brightly colored packages on top of the coffee table. Silver sighed to himself and brushed his red hair away from his face, frowning at the wall. He really, really hoped the Christmas Delibird brought him a pokemon like he wished for. It was fun playing with Archer's houndoom and Ariana's murkrow, but something told him it would be even better if the pocket monster was his own.

Maybe, he thought, it would be a cat pokemon, a persian, like his father had, except nicer. Persian had always been grumpy, and often Silver had provoked him a little too much and ended with scratches along his arms. Of course, maybe it would be a poison pokemon, like Proton's zubat or Petrel's koffing, but he didn't like how koffing smelled, and zubat were _everywhere_ and kind of annoying. So then maybe it would be something cuddly, like an eevee, and he could evolve it into an umbreon when he got older. In fact, Silver thought, he'd really like an eevee. Argent's mom had an eevee, and it was always happy and ready to play and so soft, and sometimes it would lick his hand when he petted it. _Shit_, he wanted his own pokemon.

For a moment, he entertained himself with a mental image of Petrel scolding him for using a bad word like that, and then Proton laughing and using some, himself, and then Petrel scolding _Proton_ for encouraging him. He liked to get Proton in trouble. Actually, he liked to get on Proton's nerves, period. He kept hearing grunts say he was scary and cruel, but really, Silver couldn't see it. It was always hilarious when the man got mad, save for that one time he'd threatened to rip the boy's intestines out and force-feed them to him, but that had been a while ago, so it was all good.

Eventually, he grew tired of trying to sleep, and so he hopped out of bed and quietly made his way into the den, glancing around to make sure neither Proton nor Petrel were there before going to fully investigate the room. The clock on top of the TV read "01:53"- it was really early. Too early for the Christmas Delibird, it seemed, because as Silver searched around, he couldn't find a trace of the ice-type or its arrival _anywhere_. Eventually, though, ears straining, he caught some odd sounds coming from Proton and Petrel's room, and briefly he wondered if that was how the Christmas Delibird was getting in, this year, before considering going to investigate. He paused, however, when he remembered the events of the previous week, after which Petrel had been forced to give him a rather awkward lecture he'd simply called 'the pidgey and the beedrill' (which, interestingly enough, Silver mused, had absolutely _nothing_ to do with either kind of pokemon), and decided against it, selecting to instead return to his room and burrow down beneath his blankets.

It seemed to be merely minutes later when he felt a large, spidery hand shaking him gently, and Petrel's voice urgently telling him to get up. Blearily, he got out of bed and followed the purple executive back out into the den, rubbing his eyes. (The clock now read "07:42"- he hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep.) When he finally was able to take a good look, he found there to be a pile of bright packages, some on the coffee table and some on the floor, with Archer and Ariana sitting around on the couch in their pajamas. Proton, in a similar state, was half-asleep with a mug of coffee on the floor, sitting only because he was leaning against the old armchair they'd recently acquired. Petrel went to go sit in said armchair, stroking Proton's messy hair as he did so.

"Merry Christmas, Silver," Archer said upon seeing the boy, smiling tiredly around yet another cup of tea. (Silver could have sworn he lived off the stuff, as it seemed to be all he ever drank.) "Looks like the Christmas Delibird came after all, hm?"

"Stop humoring him," Proton groaned. "He's too _old_ to believe in that shit..."

"Silence, non-believer!" Petrel said, poking Proton in the back of the head. "Just for that, you get to open your presents last."

"Fuck you. I'm too tired for this."

"Here, sweetie," Ariana said, ignoring the two idiots by the armchair. She grabbed a package from the table and handed it to Silver. "Merry Christmas."

"Thank you, Ariana," Silver replied. He sat and began tearing at the wrapping paper, struggling with the cardboard box beneath it (Petrel had to help him open it), and when he saw what was inside, he gazed upon it in awe. It wasn't exactly a Team Rocket uniform, but it looked like it could have been one. It was a black jacket with nice red trimming, mayhaps a little big for him, but exceedingly cool, nonetheless.

"Try it on, sweetie." He didn't need telling twice- in fact, he'd already pulled down the zipper before the words even left Ariana's mouth, and he slid his arms into the sleeves before zipping it back up all the way to the neck.

"Very spiffing," Archer approved. "Your father would be proud."

"It's just a fucking _jacket_."

"I said silence, non-believer!" Proton pouted as Petrel gave him another poke.

"It looks like a Team Rocket jacket," Silver said, also ignoring the two idiots by the armchair. "Like Petrel's, when it gets cold out."

"We had it made just for you," Ariana told him. "You're one of us, now, sweetie. Besides, that old jacket you were wearing was so worn-out." He blinked innocently at her.

"But it's comfy..." The Executives laughed, and Archer reached forward, grabbing a decidedly smaller package and handing it to the boy.

"This one's from me," he said, "I hope you enjoy it." With another "thank you", this one directed to the blue executive, Silver quickly tore through the paper on that package, as well, revealing a rather nice leather wallet. Curiously, he opened it, only to find a laminated card on the inside, black and red like the jacket, but with his face and name and- and- an OT number!

"A trainer card!" the boy gasped. "Wow!"

"This way, if the Christmas Delibird brought you a pokemon, you'll be able to battle with it." Archer reached out to pat Silver on the head. "And it looks nice with your jacket, too. Be careful with it, now- don't lose it."

"I won't! I promise! Thanks, Archer!" Silver grinned as he stared at his card, and then, he folded the wallet back in half and slid it into the pocket of his jacket, feeling its weight. He would get used to it in time, he was sure, just like he would grow into the jacket- and this had to be probably the coolest birthday/Christmas gift he'd ever gotten!

"I guess that makes it our turn, huh?" Petrel laughed. He grabbed a small, square box from the table and beckoned Silver, handing it to him. "It took a while for Proton and I to decide on this one, but hopefully, it's good."

"Thank you." Silver couldn't help but smile himself with Petrel grinning like that- it was like he had to make up for Proton's grumpiness, or something, but the boy payed it no mind. He was curious as to what the small square box could be. Carefully, he ripped away the paper and pulled off the lid. Something red was inside, red and spherical- knowing Petrel and Proton, it would probably be some sort of toy voltorb, which would be pretty neat. Especially if it exploded. He reached inside and gently grabbed it, feeling the smooth, polished surface, and stared at it as he pulled it out. It was small, very small, with a button that, immediately upon seeing, he pressed, and the ball expanded. His eyes widened as he realized what it was.

"Go on," Petrel encouraged, "let it out."

Just as Silver had seen numerous people do numerous amounts of times, he threw the ball lightly into the air, watching in awe as the red beam of energy shot forth, materializing into a small, dark creature with big claws and a red ear and tail plume- a sneasel. From the coat coloration, it was probably a Sinnohian sneasel, because he remembered Argent telling him Sinnohian sneasel had more blue-ish fur than their Kanto coutnerparts. The small dark-type blinked at him from where it stood.

"Wow," he whispered, wide-eyed.

"Sneas," the sneasel replied. Hesitantly, he reached out, and the sneasel eyed him suspiciously before stalking forward to sniff at his hand. Apparently deciding he wasn't a threat, the sneasel allowed itself to be petted, and then to be picked up. Silver beamed at Petrel, and rushed over to give him a one-armed hug- Proton, too, though an odd look came into the man's eyes and Petrel had to pull Silver away. (Soon after, he noticed Proton had taken out his switchblade to play with, and he wondered if the two events were related.)

"Thank you so much!" he exclaimed. "He's so cool!"

"What are you going to name him, sweetie?" Ariana asked. Silver stared down at the sneasel for a second before smiling back up at her.

"Blues," he said. "His name is Blues. How does that sound?"

"Sneas!" Blues agreed.

"Now you're a full-fledged trainer," Archer added. "Congratulations, Silver."

"I'm gonna play with him, now." Two of the four executives turned to each other and couldn't help but squee over how adorable he'd apparently just been; one of the four executives was probably thinking it, but he just took another sip of his tea; the last of the four executives ignored all of them and continued to play with his switchblade. After thanking them all one last time, Silver went over to the corner to cuddle with Blues, vaguely registering the Executives doing their own gift exchange in the background- something about Archer, Ariana, and Petrel all pitching in to present Proton with his own motorcycle, Archer getting upset over a gag gift that was some sort of Giovanni body pillow, Ariana receiving nice jewelry, and Petrel getting some quality make-up for his disguises, or something, Silver wasn't really paying attention. He had his own pokemon, now- that was all he was really paying attention to- and the little sneasel's pokeball had caught his attention.

As he hugged the pokemon to his chest, he couldn't help but frown, turning the pokeball over in his hands. It was a cool pokeball, but there was something small on the bottom, glowing red- was that normally on a pokeball? He never remembered seeing it on any of the pokeballs Petrel or Proton carried around. Though, he did suppose none of the executives kept their pokemon in regular pokeballs, so maybe that was the difference. Maybe greatballs and ultraballs didn't have glowy things on the bottom. Maybe it was only pokeballs that did. Shrugging, he pushed it out of his mind and set it to the side, glowy-thing down. It wasn't that big of a deal, anyways- no, what _was_ a big deal was that he now had his very own pokemon to play with and train! He was so excited- and with the trainer card Archer got for him, maybe one day he'd be able to go and take Johto's Gym Challenge! Someday, he and Blues would become the strongest team in the region.

Someday.

* * *

**VREAHTREAH long chapter is long! It's like 10k+! .-. But yeah. HGSS arc coming up next, so shit's about to start getting interesting. Also this is probably the last mostly-happy chapter of the thing. So yeah. Stuff gets to be srs bsns from now on. Are you prepared? Do _you_ has what it takes to join the Homestarmy? The courage? The valor? The five bucks? **

**...No? D: Well, if you don't have five bucks, a review is perfectly acceptable.**

**u c wat i did thar**


	29. Johto Raid

Disclaimer: A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... a story got disclaimed.

Warning: The first five paragraphs (including single line paragraphs) are blurring the line between fluffiness and mild lime. If you're not interested in the shipping, skip to the paragraph starting "it was about that moment". Thank you.

* * *

Oh, fuck. This was _hot_.

Proton let out a soft moan at the lips attacking his neck, the teeth nibbling and nipping at his skin, shivered at the cold hands caressing his sides and bare chest. Some time prior, he had entered Petrel's office with a singular purpose in mind, that being to deliver his lover's yet-again forgotten lunch. They'd chatted, Petrel had taken a glance into the brown paper bag, and said something about being in the mood for something more _savory_- and that was how he found himself here, pinned to the desk by the larger man and becoming increasingly aroused by every touch and every word whispered into his ear. The purple executive had already succeeded in disposing of the greenette's gloves and shirt, and had moved on to fumbling with the button on his pants as he trailed kisses down to Proton's collarbone.

"_Fuck_...," he whispered breathlessly. "_Petrel..._" His lover merely loosed a low hum in reply, giving him a long, slow lick across his abdomen as he worked the zipper, his tongue dipping into Proton's navel as his fingers hooked around the waistband of his boxes and tugged lightly. Wordlessly, Proton tangled his fingers in Petrel's hair and pulled him ups for a deep kiss, tongues swirling in dance briefly before the elder broke for air.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered into the younger's ear.

"...You." They remained that way for a moment, simply gazing into each other's eyes, before Petrel flew back in for another kiss; Proton met him half-way, eyes closing to truly enjoy the experience, and slowly, Petrel began to lower him onto his back.

It was about that moment when the door opened and one white-clad executive rushed into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him before barricading it with a chair under the knob. Petrel swore under his breath, and Proton's eyes shot open, brow furrowing into a scowl.

"Archer," Petrel said between gritted teeth, "of _all_ the times you decide to _not_ knock, for once..." Archer cast them a serious glance.

"If you weren't supposed to be working, I'd apologize," he said curtly, "but we have a situation. Both of you, get dressed- I'm not sure how much time we have. Move quickly." Petrel huffed his annoyance and turned an apologetic gaze on Proton, shrugging.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he sighed, "I'll make it up to you, later."

"Whatever," Proton grumbled, sliding off the desk to grab and re-equip his uniform. "It's _this_ asshole's fault, not yours."

"And we can butt heads, later," Archer snapped. "We've been found." Simultaneously, Petrel's and Proton's eyes widened, and they exchanged a quick, confused glance, quite plainly wondering if they had both heard their boss correctly.

"_Found_?" Petrel repeated. "Found by _who_? We've been covering our tracks so damn well, there's no way they could have found us!"

"Unless they're Hufflepluffs," Proton added. The other two ignored him completely.

"It's entirely possible someone told them," Archer sighed. He leveled Petrel with an intense, suspicious stare, and paused for a moment, as if unsure of how to continue. "...Lambda...?" Petrel scowled.

"It wasn't me," he asserted. "Fuck, Archer, the last time I had contact with _anyone_ from the IP was when I got arrested those few months ago, and it's been over three years since I've even cooperated with any of them. Pro, you were there, tell him- I didn't tell them anything important!"

"If Petrel had told them where the base was back then, they would've been here, sooner," Proton agreed. "It can't have been Petrel."

"You know I had to ask." Archer turned his gaze back to the door. "It was a formality, you understand. Ariana is evacuating as many of our people as she can- we're prioritizing admins. Petrel, I want you to get your medical teams to the Mahogany base- settle in quickly and prepare to receive wounded."

"You got it, Chief." Petrel snapped off a salute and turned to the side, grabbing his comm to begin relaying orders to his division.

"Proton," the interim boss continued, "I'll take care of your men in Engineering- I want you with Security. Hold them off as long as you can, and don't be afraid to sacrifice grunts. Petrel tells me you have a bad habit of using yourself as bait while you let your subordinates take the shot- try not to do it, this time. You're an Executive; your life is worth ten of your best admin's." Proton nodded.

"I'll try to keep that in mind," he said. "So, Fearless Leader, what're _you_ gonna be doin' while I run off to my imminent demise?"

"I have my own task." Archer's eyes hardened, and he clasped his hands behind his back. "I will be trying to find out how this was able to happen." Again, he paused, this time as though he were making a particularly difficult decision. "If I am able to find the agent in charge, I will attempt to capture him and take him to Mahogany, as well. I may have need of you then, Proton. Do your best to make it back in one piece. Both of you, now, go. I want the base evacuated within the next two hours."

The conversation ended there. Proton tipped his hat quickly to Petrel and Archer as he left the office, first, running down the corridors towards the stairs- he didn't have time to wait for the elevator, today, especially with how desperately he needed to arm himself. Generally, the only weapon he had on him at all times was his switchblade, and as useful as the thing was, Proton highly doubted bringing a knife to a gun fight would leave him a desirable outcome, so it was really in his best interests to grab his beretta (as well as a few magazines) from his own office before he continued on. The IP were really pulling the stops out- from what he could see out his office window, they were swarming the grounds completely, likely with the help of the police forces of several surrounding cities. When he noticed many of them were actually making it to the front door of the building, he decided he'd had enough time to prepare himself, and let Twitch out of his pokeball.

"Let's go, Twitch," he said, "do or die time. And I dunno 'bout you, but I'm feeling a li'l more on the 'do' side, today." His little bat chirped his agreement, and with a vague sort of smile, he returned to the corridors and proceeded down to the first floor, where his suspicions were confirmed: the IP had indeed made it inside. Many of his subordinates of the Security department were taking cover behind corners and doors. Proton himself had to stop behind a corner once or twice as he advanced, shooting down a couple IP agents in the process before he made it to his destination- a half-wall surrounding an open grunt lounge, were Decarli was crouching, his mawile next to him.

"Good to see you still in the fray, Sir!" the man called over war cries and gunfire, repeating the phrase Proton had used with him so recently at their combat training. Idly, the executive wondered how Kevin was faring.

"Could say the same to you, Decarli," he replied. Briefly, he popped up, firing a couple well-placed shots into an IP agent's chest. "Just got word from Archer- can't believe I didn't notice it, but I guess since Petrel's office doesn't have windows..." Decarli laughed.

"I should've known that's where you were." The older man shook his head and then took his turn, popping up to fire a few shots before crouching back down. "Shit. You know, when I first took this job, it was because I thought nothing like this would happen, _ever_- I used to be Field back in the day." They waited as bullets soared through the air over their heads and ricocheted off the far wall.

"What changed?"

"Found myself a pretty girl from Administration to settle down with, didn't want to spend months away from her all the time. It's different, you know- dating versus being married. It's even more different now that we have a kid."

"Yeah, yeah, Virgil, right? Ah, I feel bad for him- imagine all the heckling he'll get in highschool."

"Haha, yeah, I feel bad about that, too. I just hope I'm there for him, when it comes around." Proton leaned around the side of half-wall and let off a few shots before turning to his most trusted subordinate- no, he corrected himself, as the bullets whizzed through the air around them, his second closest friend. One of his only friends. The guy who showed him the ropes while he was still the awkward teenager Lance, and who, despite Proton's constant complaints, insults, and psychotic episodes, (and boy, had there been plenty of _those _in the past) took everything in stride, worked hard, and always had his back.

"Hey," he said with a finality that left no room for argument, "if anything, I'm getting you and your family out of here, today. I owe you that much. Now..." He smirked and motioned to their two pokemon. "Just like we practiced. You ready?" Decarli grinned broadly at him and nodded.

"As ready as I'll ever be, Sir," he replied. "Shoyu?" The mawile nodded as well and jumped onto Decarli's shoulders. Proton signaled his count, and on three, the two of them stood up.

"Twitch!"

"Shoyu!"

"_Supersonic!_"

"_Stealth Rock!_" Twitch flew forward quickly, screeching loud and long and screwing up the perception of any soul unfortunate enough to not cover their ears in time. Shoyu, meanwhile, leaped off of Decarli's shoulders and spun elegantly, firing small blasts of rocks from her jaw-tendril that stuck, floating in the air and digging into the ground. As the unlucky IP agents who were very much confused stumbled and tripped their way into and over the rocks, Proton couldn't help but laugh, Decarli along with him, and the two were able to pick off the remaining wave with the help of the others grunts behind their other forms of cover. Once they were sure the current wave was finished, they removed themselves from their hiding places and gathered in the middle of the area. Proton glanced around at all of them expectantly.

"Well," he said, "you weren't given pokemon for nothing. Do what it takes to keep them off our backs- even playing dirty. You four cover this area- don't let anyone by you. If Heim comes by-"

"Sir," Decarli cut him off, "she won't be." Proton frowned.

"Why not, Decarli?"

"She was one of the first gunned down, Sir. Her and Carillo. That was how we lost our first measure of ground and ended up back here." Proton's frown deepened.

"Well, then," he said, "I guess that means Kevin gets his promotion, after all. Fine." He returned his attention to the grunts. "If Peng comes by, tell him I said to manage you all. Within the next hour, try and get your asses to the Mahogany base. I don't care how you do it- just get there. We need all the manpower we can get."

"...Sir," one of the grunts said timidly, "Sir, why are we even bothering? They've found us. They'll find us, again. It's over, sir. We should just give up and try to get as short of a sentence as-"

The grunt was abruptly cut off by three gunshots, each ending with a bullet in the man's chest. Proton twirled his gun in his hand and blew at the muzzle (purely for dramatic effect, of course, if he was going to murder his own subordinate, he was going to do it properly) before slipping it into his hip-holster, leaving his hand resting casually on the grip.

"Anyone else want to give up?" he asked pleasantly. The remaining grunts shook their heads in unison, and he smirked. "I'm sorry, what was that? I didn't quite hear you."

"No, Sir," they murmured.

"Good. You three hold the entrance. Have fun."

With that, he and Decarli were off, searching for any more parties from Security that needed assistance and managing. Proton was delighted that he didn't get any back-talk from the rest of the grunts he ran into- he didn't have to kill any of them to get them in line. There were plenty of deserters, of course, and those he killed quite liberally, usually while Decarli covered him. Soon, however, it became apparent they were being overwhelmed. IP Agents began moving deeper and deeper into the base, and they were losing plenty of Rockets to both bullets and handcuffs alike.

"This isn't going nearly as smoothly as I was hoping," Proton sighed as they retreated from another skirmish, rounding several corners to lose their assailants.

"I'm not sure if we can hold the base much longer," Decarli added. "Sir, we're losing too many, it may be in our best interests to pull out while we have a chance."

"Normally I'd say you're just being a fuckin' pussy, but something tells me that, this time, you may be right." Proton shook his head and pressed the transmit button on his comm. "All Security units: retreat to the Mahogany base. Prioritize Admins- officers, check in."

"_Peng, here. We've heard your orders and will comply- see you at the base._"

"_Forhan reporting in. We're by a warp point, ourselves. My team will report immediately to medical and inform them of our department's status._"

"Decarli- right next to you." Proton shot Decarli a dry glance, and the man just blinked at him innocently.

"Don't be a smartass."

"Yes, Sir." He pressed on his comm, once more and motioned for Decarli to follow him as he sped off down the corridor towards the supply offices, so they could get their hands on an abra.

"What about Carillo and Heim's devisions? Do you guys know where they are, or if anyone took charge? Hey- divisions three and five! Anyone have the comm?" He paused as the receiver crackled for a moment before an unfamiliar, feminine voice, heavy with static, rang out.

"_This is Tracey Monroe, division five. I guess picking up Admin Heim's transmitter makes me acting officer?_"

"You'd guess right. Get as much of your team to Mahogany as you can. Division three- division three, come in!" Proton scowled when he got no answer. "Dammit! Division three, answer me, or I swear to Lugia I'll hunt you all down and slit your throats!"

"Oh, like _that'll_ make them want to contact you," Decarli snorted. He pressed the transmitter on his own comm and spoke into it. "Division three, we need you. Come in, division three!" The comms crackled some more, and Proton was about to just say 'screw it' and head off without them when, finally, something happened.

"_-ir? Sir, c-ou he-?_" Decarli sighed in relief; Proton scowled.

"It's about fuckin' time!" he snapped. "You're cuttin' out a little, but we can hear you. Who has the comm?"

"_It-e, si-eliber. -comm-amaged. The ent-visi-s wiped o-. -pin-wn by-maybe mor-._"

"What, Seliber? _You_ got the division three comm?"

"_-es, Sir._" There was a pause in the talking as a few shots were fired. "_I don't think I can-onger._"

"Well, sucks to be you. Have fun." Proton quickly switched the channels on his radio. "Ariana, we're going to pull out- we've lost too much ground. Take whoever you can and go, we'll be right behind you."

"_Alright. Keep an eye out for Archer, he isn't answering his comm. I'll let Petrel know you're going to be on your way, soon?_"

"Yeah, that'd be great. See you in a bit." Without waiting for her reply, Proton switched back to the Security department's channel, before turning to Decarli. "You go on ahead. Make sure everyone gets to Mahogany alright, and keep your eyes out for traitors. Everyone's on double shifts- I want twice as many patrol routes and eyes at every access to the city. If I get there and find a single leaf out of place, it's your blood."

"As usual," Decarli sighed. He did, however, snap off a salute. "As you command, Sir. I'll have security so tight a rattata won't be able to get in."

"Good. Now, go. Don't waste any time." He waited, watching as Decarli ran off and out of sight, and even then he waited a moment longer. He needed to go find Archer- but then, at the same time, Kevin... He tried to stomp the thought before it could form. That asshole didn't deserve anything from him other than a sound beating, no matter what Proton told him about their differences being 'all in the past'. There were just some lines one doesn't cross, _ever_, and Kevin had crossed many- if not _all_- of them. Some of them recently.

Once, the executive mused, they'd been friends. Best friends, in fact. Of course, that had been all the way back in middle school, and even in the eighth grade they'd been growing distant. By the time high school had rolled around, Proton and his mother had lost their utilities, and Kevin had subsequently found new friends to hang out with- probably ones that smelled better, too. If that was where the troubles had ended, though, he supposed it wouldn't have been that big of a deal, and at first it wasn't. But it seemed Kevin had chosen the wrong friends to hang around, not delinquents or criminals by any means, but bullies. Jocks. Kids who picked on Proton and pissed him off so badly that he'd had to find creative outlets for his frustration that more often than not ended up with setting a small pokemon on fire behind the gym after school. At first, Kevin had tried to fight them, told them to lay off, and for that, Proton had been thankful. Then he'd started turning a blind eye. Then he'd joined in. It was only fair, the executive reasoned, if he left the fuckin' boot-licker to rot.

He was about to do just that, go find Archer, and scram, and had even began heading in the general direction he assumed the blue interim boss would be in, when he stopped dead in his tracks and took another factor into consideration- Petrel. As much as Petrel didn't like Kevin, he'd quite often, in the past, frowned upon Proton getting anyone needlessly killed, by his own hand, through inaction, or otherwise. The exhausted, disappointed look the purple executive had given him each and every time he'd seen the news of one of Proton's Wednesday or Saturday night escapades was seared into his mind, and to be frank, Proton wasn't sure if he could handle too many more of those before it started to grate on his sanity.

"Lugia dammit," he grumbled after a moment in which he tried to imagine a situation where Petrel _wouldn't_ find out (and subsequently coming up with none), and as his self-preservation instincts kicked in, he about-faced and ran. "Seliber! Are you still on the channel?! Answer me, man! _Kevin!_"

"_S-_"

"Where the fuck are you?!"

"_Seco-or. Nea-nt lou-._"

"I'm getting the second floor grunt lounge from you, is that right?"

"_-ea-ry._"

The second floor was some ways away- Proton had made it towards the back of the third floor with Decarli, almost on the exact opposite side of the building from the stairs. Idly, he supposed he _could_ take the elevators, provided they hadn't been emergency-stopped. Of course, the chances of them being fully functional now that the IP had barged in was slim to none; it would probably save him a lot more effort to just skip checking the elevators, this time. Moving quickly, he dodged and weaved his way passed grunts and IP agents alike, avoiding any fights he could- drawing attention to himself would make his mission all the more difficult.

Through what he could make of Kevin's broken transmissions, he knew the guy had been in trouble. He'd managed to piece out that he was surrounded, or something, and so Proton had assumed his entire little rescue mission would involve shooting down some police or IP agents and then getting Seliber to the Mahogany base. He was in no way prepared to stumble across a mass of mostly dead IP agents and a single blond, gloveless Rocket sitting propped against a wall, with what seemed to be several bullet wounds, a broken arm, and if Proton was not mistaken, a single rib bone poking out of his skin. A shiny rattata was next to him, digging its teeth into his pantleg and tugging, trying to get him up.

"Fuck," the executive swore under his breath. "Kev, you look like shit." Kevin merely laughed.

"I didn't really expect you to come back," he croaked out, voice hoarse. "Shit, Lance, I thought you were gonna leave me to die..."

"I _should_." Proton scowled. "Put your rattata back in its pokeball. I'll carry you out."

"Her. Her pokeball." Despite his injuries, Kevin managed a small smiled. "Ribbon's a 'she'."

"Fine. Put your rattata back in _her_ pokeball, I'll carry you out. Does it really matter? Just hurry up, Seliber."

"Yes, Sir. Ribbon... c'mon, now, listen to the man and return." The rattata squeaked and lowered her head and ears anxiously before nudging the button on her pokeball, being sucked back inside. "Good girl..." As soon as he was sure Kevin was safe for travel, Proton crouched next to him, pulling the blond's arm across his shoulders and wrapping his own arm under both of the grunt's before, slowly, standing. His once-friend was a lot heavier than he'd assumed he would be.

"Let's go," he grunted, "move as quickly as you can, we need to find Archer and get out of here."

"Oh? Archer? Is he the one in charge, now?" Inwardly, Proton groaned- he knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere. How he'd assumed he'd make it out of the base without hearing that _one damn voice_, he didn't know. His suspicions were confirmed when he turned, and barely two meters away stood Petrel's auburn-haired ex.

"Alex," he hissed. "I should have known you'd be here, you fuckin' asshole." The traitor smiled pleasantly at him and gave a mock-bow.

"You should have, indeed, because here I am!" he said jovially. "I had to redeem myself for your little Houdini move, back then. I'm still not quite sure how you two were able to get away from me."

"Well, according to Petrel, it took his koffing, a jar of Nutella, two hotwheels, and a blowdart."

"...Wait, what?"

"Yeah, apparently he had Monoxide use smokescreen, and when the guards were all busy coughing, he used the jar of Nutella to-"

"You know, I don't think I even want to know." Alex shook his head, looking to be mildly amused at the entire idea of the situation. "But I _do_ know this time, I'm not letting you escape- this time, I'll show you exactly what happens when I finish up that drug cocktail I started you on, last time." Proton scowled.

"Fuck, that shit was trippy as hell," he sneered. "P said I got convinced I was turnin' into a mareep and that I got all fuckin' clingy and shit. No way I'm gonna let you shoot me up with that shit, again." The traitor laughed at that and reached into his blazer, pulling out a handgun.

"You don't have a choice, bitch," he said. "I'm bringing you in, dead or alive."

"Sir," Kevin said meekly. _What a fuckin' pussy_, Proton thought. He drew his own gun and trained the barrel carefully on Alex, eyeing him wearily.

"I could say the same about you," he growled. "I bring your head back, and P's name is cleared for good. You think I'm gonna let a chance like this pass me up?" The space around them became quiet, then; the two stared each other down, each daring the other to take his shot, while Kevin glanced nervously between them with occasionally pleading murmurs of "sir".

It was a game, Proton found himself thinking. Stare him down. Wait. Watch. Psych him out. Make him think he didn't have the balls to shoot. Make him think he'd rather run than fight. Make him think Kevin was weighing him down. The silence was deafening, disconcerting. Proton wasn't used to such silence, no matter what he was up to at any given time. He was just itching to say something- anything. Ruffle Alex's feathers. Get on his nerves a little. And then shoot him. Kill him. End it, and free Petrel from any and all blacklisting within the organization.

"...Hey, Alex." The auburn-haired IP agent quirked an eyebrow, sneering, but showing Proton he had the man's attention, at the very least. "Remember how you said P would just throw me aside, in the end? How I shouldn't last as long as you just 'cause you knew him, first?"

"Yes," the traitor affirmed, "and I stand by it. I don't get what he sees in you- you're a violent psychopath. From _experience_, I know he loathes _both_ of those things- even more so when they're together." Proton slowly smirked.

"We bought a house. Me and him. A nice one. Two stories. Three bed, two and a half bath. Jacuzzi tub in the master." Alex's sneer deepened into an outright glare.

"Liar. Like he'd want anything to do with you."

"He gave me the necklace he'd gotten you when you were kids, too. He even went out of his way to read the Tome."

"Ha,_ Lambda_? Read the _Tome_? Now I _know_ you're making shit up!" Alex cocked his gun, and Proton mirrored him. "He doesn't give two shits about religion! I kept the fucking thing under my pillow for _years_ and he never said a fucking _word_ about it!" Proton laughed softly, and his smirk broadened.

"See, I have a theory about why that is," he said. "I think, when it comes down to it, he was never really into you. It must hurt, right? Finding out that some punk off the streets made more progress with your ex in just a couple_ years_ than you made in your _entire fuckin' life_? I hope it does. Because that's the last fuckin' thing I want you to feel. Say your prayers, you fuckin' traitor. Maybe you'll even net me a white uniform." With a final laugh, his finger squeezed the trigger, and he took a moment to take in the sight of Alex's face twisted in rage before he pulled said trigger sharply.

_Click_.

Pause.

_Click, click_.

Pause.

It took a moment for Proton to register what that sound was. That was the sound that meant he was thoroughly, inarguably screwed. That was the sound of him out of bullets. Alex's features gave way to a malicious smirk of his own as Proton's eyes widened slightly and Kevin's murmurs became more frantic.

"...Well, fuck."

* * *

He wasn't quite sure how they'd made it to Mahogany. All Proton knew was that he _seriously_ underestimated the power of Nutella. He'd have to let Petrel know he believed his entire IP escape story, later, once the important matters were taken care of- namely, the bullet lodged in his thigh, and Kevin's wounds. He was surprised by how well the grunt was managing, despite the pain, to tell the truth. Either way, he'd be happy to have the guy off his hands, and so as soon as they set foot inside the base, they beelined to the infirmary, taking a couple empty seats near some other grunts.

"You made it!" Decarli greeted as they approached. "I was starting to regret letting you head back."

"It would have been too much trouble to get someone else as far along in their training as Seliber," Proton sighed in reply. "As it stands, he's the only one qualified to take Carillo's division... or what's left of it." Ashley, from several seats down, leaned forward to throw in her two cents.

"Why the hell would he take _Ray's_ division?" she asked. "What happened to Ray?" Proton frowned and cast Decarli a weary glance.

"You didn't tell her?" Decarli graced him with a wry smile.

"Not my job, sir."

"Didn't tell me what?!" Proton sighed heavily and face-palmed, mentally counting to ten. Fuck Decarli for pushing this on him- he shouldn't _have_ to be the one to give Forhan the news. It dawned on him that, if Forhan didn't know Carillo was gone, Peng probably didn't know about Heim, either. This was a total mess.

"Ray and Kira are dead," he said after a moment. Peng blinked. Forhan's eyes widened.

"Dead?" she repeated. "What do you mean, _dead_?!"

"Well, Ray's dead, it's possible Kira was just arrested," Proton continued. "And by 'dead' I mean 'the only way you'll ever see him walk again is as a zombie'."

"I... I have to go," Peng said weakly, slowly starting to stand, his expression blank and devoid of any and all emotion.

"Oh, Ho-Oh," Forhan whispered. "Oh... oh, Ho-Oh... H-he's... h-h-he's... Oh, Ho-Oh, Jozef...!" Before Peng was able to leave, Forhan threw herself at him, hugging him tightly around the middle, and though Peng's gaze remained unfocused and blank, he wrapped his arms tightly around her as she began sobbing into his chest. That was the problem, Proton mused, with inter-department relationships- it could so easily break the group, with one simple death (and in this case, one possible arrest, as well).

"You could've handled that better," Decarli whispered to him. Proton scowled at him.

"_You_ could've just told 'em yourself, if you were so fuckin' worried about somethin' like this happenin'," he hissed in reply. "Fuck you, Decarli. No excuses."

By the time Petrel and Bernard came out of the infirmary, bidding their previous two patients a speedy recovery, both Forhan _and_ Peng were crying, something that both pissed Proton off and shamed him to no end, because he'd thought they were _both_ more badass than that, and the purple-haired executive merely gave them an odd look before turning to Proton for answers.

"Their fuck buddies got eighty-six'd," he said dryly. Petrel winced.

"That's terrible," he said, "I heard Ashley and Ray were already planning their wedding and Jozef was about ready to propose... Such a shame..." He shook his head and moved on to glancing Proton over. "You don't look too worse for wear. Just your leg? C'mon, I can fix you up right now." Proton shook his head and motioned to Seliber, who had been sitting there suffering in silence the entire time.

"Take care of the grunt, first," he said, "he's a little more banged up than I am." It was amusing to see Petrel's eyes become so cold so quickly, and the executive barely cast Kevin a glance before dismissing the idea.

"He'll live a little longer, I'm sure," he said. "You first, Pro, c'mon."

"Sir, if you can handle Executive Proton on your own, I can take care of Seliber for you," Bernard offered.

"No." Petrel shook his head. "I want to take care of Seliber, myself." Again, Proton began his little counting game. Really, Petrel had to make everything so difficult. He _really_ hoped it wouldn't have had to come to this, but he didn't feel like dealing with any more of Petrel's possessive taurosshit, that day.

"Babe," he said softly- pleadingly, even- "Babe, I _know_ I said to take care of Seliber first, but this is _really_ starting to smart, and if Drazen can handle Seliber by himself... Please...?" He shifted, and made a show of grabbing his leg and whimpering, and just as he predicted, Petrel took the bait, hook, line, and sinker, motioning for Bernard to take Seliber as he helped Proton up and into the informary, sitting him down on a chair in the corner.

"Alright, sweetheart, let's see what we can do." After being forced to remove his pants so as to allow Petrel to search for an exit wound, it was determined that, no, it hadn't been a clean shot, and yes, Proton would have to sit there while the bullet was surgically removed. It wouldn't have been that big of a deal if they'd had some sort of anesthetic, but when he asked about it, Petrel had only frowned and informed him that, while they _had_ a little bit of anesthesia earlier in the day, their entire supply had been depleted- not like they'd had much to begin with. Petrel had twisted a towel and handed it to him so he could bite down on it, and had then grabbed a scalpel and a small pair of forceps.

"This is gonna be bad, ain't it?" Proton sighed. Petrel shrugged.

"I won't lie," he answered, "it's gonna hut like a bitch. Just make sure you keep that towel in your mouth. You can hold onto me if you need to. Now, just relax, I promise I'll do this as quickly as I can."

Yeah, 'hurt like a bitch' didn't describe it well, at all. Proton had a few bad cuts, before, of course, so it wasn't the incision itself that was so bad- it was Petrel's second probing of the wound, searching with one latex-clad finger and the small forceps for the bullet. Desperate not to make any sound, he bit down hard on the towel and gripped the edges of the chair tightly while Petrel cooed 'it'll be alright's and 'I'm almost done's at him (for the most part, the 'almost done's were complete and utter shit) until, finally, the bullet was removed, and Proton allowed himself to even his breathing out.

"There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Petrel smiled and placed the bullet and forceps on the small tray next to him. "Now I'll stitch you up, and we're all done."

"Fuck you," Proton managed once he pulled the towel out of his mouth. "That was was _terrible_."

"Put that back," his lover said, motioning vaguely at the towel as he got up to find a needle, "I didn't say we're done _now_."

"I don't think getting stitches will be half as bad as that fucking taurosshit you just pulled."

"Oh, you underestimate me, sir. Towel back in the mouth or I find a ball gag. Your choice." Proton scowled and bit back down on the towel, crossing his arms stubbornly. Soon, Petrel was sitting in front of him, again, needle and fishing line in hand. He paused, the needle mere centimeters away from piercing Proton's skin, and glanced up at him briefly. "Brace yourself, now."

Later, Decarli would joke about how loud Proton had been swearing, and how they had all heard him from out in the hallway.

In the meantime, Proton lurched forward, grabbing Petrel's shoulders to steady himself as he became naught more than a long stream of obscenities, the towel now laying haphazardly on the floor. There were more assurances of it 'not being much longer' and Petrel being 'almost done' (still taurosshit) and all Proton could do in reaction was continue to swear, digging his fingers harder and harder in until his knuckles hurt. Petrel was patient with it, not even blinking at Proton's grip, and he swiftly and efficiently stitched him up.

"There," he said once he was finished, "we're done, now. You can stop trying to puncture my flesh, now."

"_Fuck_," was all Proton was able to reply. "_Fuck,_ that _hurt_!" Petrel merely laughed and leaned forward to give him a peck on the cheek before heading over to wash and sterilize all of his equipment.

"I warned you, didn't I?" Proton scowled.

"Fuck you," he sneered half-heartedly. "Shit, if it hurt that badly with you tryin' to be gentle, I can just _imagine_ what you would have done to Kev..."

"So, you're on a first-name basis with him, now, eh?"

"We're not havin' this conversation, P."

"What conversation? I'm just curious."

"You just want to break my grunt's face. Forget Seliber. Where's our quarters, anyways?"

"Oh, you're gonna love this. We get to share a tiny little apartment with Silver and the twins. Two bed rooms. Ariana pretty much demanded Silver get his own room."

"And let me guess: they're senior executives, so they get the other one?"

"Good guess. They said they'll get a mattress in the living room for us. I told them a futon would be easier to store during the day." Proton sighed heavily, taking his hat off momentarily to run a hand through his hair in minor distress.

"I suppose it could be worse."

"True. We could be living in a tiny little RV in an over-grown, rattata-infested junkyard."

"Hey, I liked that over-grown, rattata-infested junkyard."

"_Yeeeeeaaaaah_, but you liked the HQ better. Look on the bright side: at least we still have the house, if things go south."

"That jacuzzi tub better be the best fuckin' thing in the motherfuckin' world, or I'm gonna be upset." Petrel laughed and dried his hands on a new towel before offering a hand to Proton and pulling the shorter to his feet.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Pro. Ariana said you had something to help Archer with? Is he even back?"

"I have no idea. I meant to go looking for him, but I ran into an old friend. Namely, your ex. He's the one who shot me. Is there an interrogation room or something around here that Archer would use?"

"Yeah, floor 3B, in the corner on the far side of the base, you can't miss it."

"Alright. I'm gonna head on over and see if he's back, yet. Thanks for fixing up my leg."

"Don't mention it. See you, later."

Now that everything had been taken care of and Proton was on his way to find Archer, he couldn't help but turn his mind to the day's events. The raid had been unexpected, to be sure. He still wasn't sure how the IP had even found them- there wasn't a single thing he had overlooked, not a single lead left untarnished for them to follow. All it came down to was that it shouldn't have happened- and yet it had. Maybe it _was_ a traitor. Maybe Archer was right. Maybe Petrel...

_No_, said a voice in his mind, strong and defiant, _Petrel promised me he had nothing to do with them anymore. It wasn't him_. But then, he questioned himself, if it wasn't Petrel... who was it? And how had they gone unnoticed for so long? It was one thing for an Executive to be able to cover his tracks so well, but if it wasn't Petrel, and it wasn't Proton or Archer or Ariana, then it was a grunt or an admin. Briefly, he entertained the notion of it being Decarli- but then, Decarli was too much of a pussy to be a traitor, and he had a family to look after, too. So then he considered the possibility of it being Kevin, but he was a new recruit, and didn't fit the traitor profile. There was no way it was any of his other admins, unless it had been Heim, but he still wasn't sure if she was even alive or not- and quite frankly, he didn't care. He'd been getting tired of walking in on her and Peng making out in the supply closets during work hours. Now he knew how Archer felt about he and Petrel. And speaking of Archer...

The door to the interrogation chamber was dull and nondescript, with no indication it had been opened at all that day, though that could mean absolutely nothing. Hopefully, their interim boss had made it back alright on his own. Ah, the lecture he would receive from Petrel if it turned out he'd let Archer die in Kevin's stead... That would be an ironic twist of fate, right there.

With a deep breath to prepare himself, Proton swiped his ID through the card slot, opened the door, and stepped inside.

* * *

**OH LOOK IT'S CHAPTER 29. Also known as the chapter I didn't want to write but had to for continuity's sake! For now, Kevin's rattata is going to have a placeholder name of 'Ribbon'. If no one wins the contest from chapter 27, then 'Ribbon' will be rattata's official name. In case anyone is entertaining the thought of giving the contest a try, but find it daunting, here's a hint: the first word is 'The', and capitalization doesn't matter. So that one "i" that was an uppercase "I" can be a lowercase "i" if you want it to be. :3**

**Soooo... 8'D If this was real life, Kevin totally would have died from blood loss and/or shock. Also, I feel like this chapter had some awkward parts and some jerky parts and I apologize, but seriously, I really wasn't inspired to write this chapter at all. D: I wanna skip to the Slowpoke Well, but there's still a whole bunch of continuity to take care of. Also Silver things. So stay tuned for awesome? Yes? Yes. C:  
**

**Fun Fact: The beginning is an adaptation of a one-shot I never published in which Petrel had super happy fun dream-sex times with Proton while the four executives were on a road trip, but from Proton's point of view.**


	30. Crumbling Ruins

Disclaimer: Since I don't want a cease and desist order from anyone, have one.

It was dark- much darker than the hallway had been, but that wasn't a problem. Proton liked the dark. He always had, and he was pretty certain he always would. It made things simple, something was telling him that he would be enjoying a wonderfully simplistic situation. The door to the interrogation room shut behind him, and the sliver of light that had briefly illuminated the room vanished, leaving the near pitch-black to coil and swirl around him, caressing him as an old friend even as it parted before him to grant him vision.

There were two figures in the room- one standing, one on its knees with its hands bound behind its back. The standing figure turned to him as he stepped forward and reached out, beckoning with a single finger. Proton couldn't walk over fast enough; the shadows gave way to Archer's crisp white uniform and pale skin, and it was with much enthusiasm that Proton snapped to attention and saluted the man, only relaxing at the returned approving nod.

"You took quite a while." Unable to truly discern Archer's expression, the green executive was able to pay much more attention to his voice, and the intricacies in his tone. He'd been worried, as much as he didn't seem to want to admit it. He hadn't wanted to loose such a useful piece of the Team. "I wasn't quite able to find the agent in charge of the raid, but what I _did_ find should suffice." Pride. Confidence at such a small victory. In another circumstance, Proton would have poked at him, chiseled cracks into Archer's whole 'mightier-than-thou' wall, but even he knew not to bite the hand that tossed him such wonderful bones. Or possibly yarn, Proton had always been partial to felines.

"How long have you been trying him?" he asked, briefly glancing at the agent on the floor. He didn't look much worse for wear- Archer always _had_ hated getting his hands dirty, himself- and so Proton was led to believe there hadn't been much headway made.

"Long enough," Archer replied. "He's yet to even open his mouth. Now that you're here, of course, we may expedite the process- if you've no reservations, of course." He knew Archer couldn't see it, but that was alright- the grin stretching across his face was real, no matter whether anyone could see it or not.

"Well, I'm sure P would tell me not to push myself, but after that whole load of taurosshit? I could use some fun, about now. Limits?"

"I want him alive, and in a state fit to answer my questions."

"You gonna stay and watch, or you gonna wait outside?"

"I suppose I'll stay, if you don't mind someone watching over your shoulder. I've yet to see you in action first-hand. I would say 'take your time', but we're sort of in a pinch, so if you could be quick about it...?"

"A'course, I know how it rolls. Just stand back, and watch the master at work." Archer nods his head again, agreeably, and retreats towards the wall, raising one hand to rest thoughtfully on his chin as he was so prone to doing. Proton advanced on them, his grin broadening, and barely, just barely, he could make out their eyes- wide and uncertain. He could practically smell the fear.

* * *

He doesn't talk as he works, not really. He hums along to some of his more favored tunes from musicals he'd watched with Petrel over the years, everything from _Into the Woods_ to _Starship_. Occasionally as he twists and a pulls at one of the prisoner's limbs, he'll ask- mockingly- if it hurts yet. He doesn't expect any answers, and the agent's muffled screams usually tell him enough, anyways. He dislocates the shoulder, breaks each individual finger, crushes the kneecaps. Occasionally his hands ghost across the agent's neck, but each time Archer clears his throat pointedly and Proton strays somewhere else, somewhere nonfatal and soon he's dragging the blade of his knife across the man's skin, tenderly, lovingly, imagining what beauty it surely must have been. He moves the blade up to the man's face and begins tracing his features, cutting just enough to get the perfect trickles of blood, but something wasn't quite right, not yet. Something that, no matter his ministrations, and no matter the agent's screams, displayed nothing but defiance. How troublesome- easily remedied, of course, but troublesome nonetheless.

When one of the man's eyes goes rolling across the floor, Archer steps forward and grabs Proton by the wrist, pulling him away. Proton fights for a moment- the man still had his other eye, he wasn't finished, yet- but gives in, and takes to cleaning the blood off of his knife, instead, as the interim boss kneels in front of their prisoner to speak with him, again.

"Look at you, putting on a brave face," the bluenette says, "fighting so hard against the inevitable. It's almost pitiable. You're going to die, either way, my good man, the question is whether you want it to be quick, or whether you want us to draw it out. Believe me, my subordinate is more than capable of much, _much_ worse."

"I'm not going to tell you anything," the agents replies with a shaking voice- brave, Proton thinks, or very, very stupid. Archer merely sighs and stands, motioning to him with one hand.

"Very well," he says, "Proton, you may continue." And Proton is so excited, so _fucking_ excited, because he hasn't had time to play this much in _months_. Thousands of ideas race through his head as he advances on the broken man.

"W-wait! Stop!" The fear was pouring through into the man's voice, now, and it was positively euphoric, though the arm Archer threw out to stop Proton in his tracks was decidedly less so. "No more... no more of _that_...!"

"If you want it to end, you will tell me what I want to know."

"I... I-I-I..."

"Oh, well, if you're going to be so wishy-washy about it..." His arm begins to retract, and Proton is excited again for all of four seconds before the agent blurts out his answer.

"The pokeball!" he cries. "We put a bug on the pokeballs in the Kanto Rocket HQ! Please- please, just... let it end... let it _end_..."

"That wasn't so hard," Archer murmurs. He steps forward and kneels, wrapping his arms around the agent's head and jerking, snapping his neck. Proton is put-out that he wasn't allowed more time with the man, and readies himself to begin clean-up when Archer grabs him by the arm and pulls him along as he leaves the room and practically runs to the elevator.

Two seconds later, Petrel and Ariana have joined them, and they pile into the elevator as Archer fills them in on the situation. Both of them are concerned, Ariana more than Proton had ever thought she could be, but he likes to think he understands. He's grown fond of the boy during the time he and Petrel housed him- to think that the present they'd given him for Christmas was the reason they had been found... Terrible. It put the boy in needless amounts of danger.

Two minutes later, Archer informs Silver that they'll be taking Blues and the sneasel's pokeball. The boy throws a fit while Ariana and Petrel try to explain the situation to him, but it's hard, because no matter how sharp he is, he's still just a boy. Archer shoves the pokeball into Proton's hands and tells him to 'fix it, or- or something', because no one else knows pokeballs like Proton does, and he's more than willing to work on one again, after so long.

Two hours later finds Proton sitting at the small desk in the office he now shares with the rest of the Executives, narrowing his eyes in intense concentration as he works on transferring Blues to a new pokeball. He's already removed and disabled the tracking device from the bottom of the original pokeball, but he wants to dismantle it, too, just to be safe. The others gave him their pokeballs for some maintenance. They want to get back to doing missions soon, and need everything to be in top working condition.

Two days later brings the first wave of resignations- mostly the grunts that had made it out and realized their superiors didn't give two shits about them, but some admins who had lost faith in The Cause did, as well. Forhan and Peng leave for Sinnoh together, leaving Proton with merely Kevin and Decarli. He tells himself it's alright, and that he prefers quality over quantity, anyways. When he realizes both of them are even more easily spooked than before, he finds himself missing Carillo. As annoying as the man had been, he had also been the only true badass on Proton's security team, and it was a trait that Team Rocket direly needed.

Two weeks later, Archer announces the Ragecandy bars are selling well, but not well enough. He asks the three of them if they have any more ideas, and Ariana again suggests a drug cartel, but that is well beyond their boundaries, now. Petrel suggests meth, and that it would be easy for him to whip a few batches up, but Archer declines, saying the product is too volatile. When Proton brings up slowpoke tails for the umpteenth time, the other seem to have a moment of debating silently between each other before Archer says he'll send whatever team he can spare to scout Azalea. Petrel offers to check the current selling price on the black market. Ariana decides to start looking for a way to sell them to the public. Proton still isn't sure what made them change their mind.

Two months later, Decarli leaves. As much as Proton swears, he can't really blame him. Money is tight, and no one is really getting paid, anymore. The man couldn't support his family, and they left, looking for opportunity elsewhere, along with another wave of resigning grunts and admins. They have less than forty members total, now, including the Executives, themselves. Stress is high, and though they try to remain civil with each other, the four of them are finding themselves to be at each other's throats more and more often. Proton has a huge fight with Petrel the night after Decarli left with his family. It's funny. Later, when they had made up and were laying under the sheets of their futon, clinging to each other as though their lives depended on it, he couldn't really remember what it was about. It can't have been that important, and he feels bad about the vibrant red hand-print he left on Petrel's cheek.

Two years later, Proton doesn't feel much taller. He's twenty-two, now, so he supposes he's stopped growing. He wishes he had more a jump in the past few years, if only so he would stop having to balance on his toes every time he tries to kiss Petrel while they're standing. They still don't have much in the way of money, but it's more than they had before. They were able to recruit new grunts, including one incredibly annoying girl who seemed to take it upon herself to be his personal stalker. He'd been flattered the first couple weeks, but now it was getting out-of-hand. Kevin is the only face he recognizes from the old days- well, him and Bernard. Now the blond is Proton's lieutenant, and is just as much of a pussy as Decarli ever was, but that isn't the point. The point is that they're recovering.

Now that they have manpower, again, Archer says they'll be able to spare an entire team to take over Azalea Town and the Slowpoke Well. Proton is excited, because this means he gets to get out of the base for a while- for a few months, actually, just to get the cartel up and running. Ariana and Petrel had worked together to get some clients who were interested in purchasing slowpoke tail, and they were going to begin advertising them as an excellent source of nutrients for pokemon, which, for all they knew, probably was true. On the downside, Proton was going to be away from the base for a few months, and Petrel was remaining behind. Since the day they met, they'd never spent more than a week away from each other, and so this whole Slowpoke Well thing was probably going to be grating heavily on their sanity. Proton was never before so thankful that the pokegear had been invented.

Archer had finally finished their grand scheme- less grand than their initial plan, of course, but with limited numbers, they would have to make do. Their target was going to be the Goldenrod Radio Tower. Several of the stations were broadcasted in Kanto as well as Johto, and so a complete take-over would give them the perfect coverage. They just needed a few more bands of recruits and some more equipment to make it all work, and for that, they needed money, and a way to get in passed security. Petrel had currently began training an entire team of koffing, just for that- he'd even given Proton one to train, as well, a shy one they were hoping to pick up some of the green executive's wild streaks.

It was kinda funny.

Proton could honestly say he'd never thought the fate of Team Rocket would rest solely on slowpoke tails and koffing fumes.

* * *

**Welcome to GSCHGSS, friends.**


	31. Little Thief

Disclaimer: Dis us a claim, you're the disclaimer; dis us a claim, tonight, 'cause we're all in the mood for a good story, and we think that you'll do alright.

It didn't seem to matter how much they had to do, Petrel was never really busy, anymore. Archer kept saying it was because they needed _someone_ to watch the base while the other three were gone, but frankly, he knew better. Neither Archer nor Ariana trusted him in the field, any more, and so they kept him cooped up in Mahogany with the same rules they'd given Silver- no going outside, no contact with the outside world. He hadn't seen real sunlight or breathed fresh air in weeks, and it was becoming maddening. All he did was laze around in the Executives' office, feed his small army of koffing weed, get high off of the fumes they then produced, and worked on his disguise skills. There was no challenge, no real work, and a plethora of boredom that he could never shake.

He didn't know where Archer and Ariana went half the time, though he couldn't quite say he really cared- not to sound callous, or anything, they were some of his closest friends, after all. But it was hard for him to care about what they did when they didn't trust him. Proton, on the other hand, he worried about daily, which was probably the worst part of having nothing to do. He hadn't seen Proton longer than he hadn't seen sunlight, almost going on three months, now. It was terribly lonely without him, and he wasn't sure how he'd managed all that time before they'd met. Thankfully, the slowpoke operation was almost ready to be left to its own devices- just a few more weeks, and when the end of the quarter rolled around, Proton would be coming home for a few days, and they would be able to spend whatever time they could hanging out and cuddling and having pancakes and- Petrel had to kick himself to get the torrent of thoughts out of his head. He was getting needy as fuck, and quite honestly, he didn't like it.

The only thing he ever had to look forward to every day was spending time with Silver, and luckily enough, it was stable, a constant. He knew where the boy was at all times and knew he was safe. At noon he would return briefly to their small apartment to fix the boy lunch, and at seven he would serve dinner. The rest of the night was usually spent teaching the boy strategy by means of chess or some random-ass board game simply called _Admirals_, piano by means of a small electric keyboard Ariana had yoinked for them, or lock picking with the old kit that he really needed to replace. It was the closest thing to normal either of them had, nowadays. And speaking of lunch... Petrel frowned as he glanced at the clock. It was about that time, so he supposed he should feed his pokemon and the kid.

"Alright, everybody," he said, tossing the six or so pokeballs that had been lying around on his desk, "time to eat! Helix, you too!" Six koffing- Monoxide, Chlorine, Cyanide, Sulfur, Xanthine, and Fentanyl- as well as his pet ditto that he always kept around and who, quite recently, seemed to take a liking to transoforming into raticate, were soon all crowded around him, knowing exactly what time it was by the collective growling of stomachs. Petrel couldn't help but crack a smile at their eager faces. Koffing were so adorable. "Alright, guys, you know the drill- Monoxide, Chlorine, Cyanide, Xanthine, here's some weed for you guys... Sorry, I know it's a bit dry, this stuff's kind of old. Sulfur, Fentanyl, here's some yummy sulfur for you- don't give me that look, we've talked about this, before, you two are volcanic koffing, you can't digest weed. Trust me, I studied this in college. Ah, and Helix, look, your favorite! Gummy teddiursa! With all the appropriate vitamins and minerals mixed in, of course. Everybody good?"

With one last look around to make sure his babies were all behaing themselves- sometimes Xanthine liked to pick on Cyanide, and Monoxide often tried to trade his weed for Helix's gummies (after the first time Petrel had gotten high with his ditto, he swore to never let anthing even remotely resembling the experience happen ever again- don't ask), but today they seemed to be more focused on actually eating than causing any trouble. With an approving nod, the purple-haired executive grabbed his keys and made his way towards the door.

"You all behave while I'm gone. No eating any of the paperwork, and for the love of Mew, Helix, stop ingesting Archer's paperweight, it's a bitch to clean. Alright? Alright. You kids have fun." Damn, he'd make a good dad, some day. He'd really need to pester Proton about that some more- looking after Silver was great, of course, but it was more like an extended babysitting gig. Having a kid of his own would be a dream come true. Nevertheless, his babysitting skills were what was needed at the moment, and so, with a vague sort of spring in his step, he headed off to pretty much the highlight of his day, taking care to lock the office behind him.

When he arrived at the apartment, the first thing he noticed was that Silver wasn't in the den playing with his sneasel as he was usually prone to doing (like the previous day, when Petrel had come home to find the two of them drawing with crayons they'd somehow managed to procure), though occasionally the boy would sleep all the way up until lunch. Petrel figured he'd come out as soon as he smelled what they would be having, that day, as he'd managed to get his hands on some fresh meat- or rather, had Bernard get it for him, the whole 'not allowed outside' thing and all. Without giving it much thought, he formed the meat into patties and set about making burgers, whistling to himself as he worked.

By the time the burgers were done, Silver still hadn't come out of his room, and Petrel was starting to get a little bit restless. The boy usually never slept in this long- idly, he wondered if he'd gotten sick, or hurt himself, and after turning the stove off, wiped his hands on a towel lying by the sink and made his way over to the door of the boy's room, knocking sharply.

"Silver!" he called, "lunch time! Get your lazy ass out of bed, kiddo, you're burning daylight!" When there was no reply- no disgruntled, garbled attempt at swearing (a nasty habit the boy had picked up from Proton, though Petrel supposed he was just as much to blame), no hisses from Blues, no order for the pokemon to try and freeze Petrel to the spot- he began to grow worried, and he knocked again. "Silver? Hey, you alright? C'mon, kiddo, say something! Silver? _Silver_!" Screw knocking- brow furrowed, Petrel finally just opened the door to find one empty bed, several dresser drawers opened and empty, lights off, window open- Silver had a window in his room? Lucky bastard. But with everything he found, there was one thing he didn't. The boy was nowhere, not in the closet, not hiding under the bed. His shoes, usually kept neatly next to the door, were gone, and in conjunction with the open window, Petrel was quite sure he knew what had happened.

"Oh, Mew," he murmured. "Not _now_... Ohhh, this isn't good, this is _not_ good, they're gonna _kill me_... Why did he have to run away _now_ of all times...?" With a heavy sigh, he reached for his pokegear. He had to let the twins know. They would skin him alive, sure, but this wasn't something he could keep to himself. If Silver had run away, they would all need to keep an eye out for him. Of course, Archer didn't answer- Archer never answered, he was always busy using his radio app- but Ariana, luckily enough, picked up on the third ring.

"_Petrel, this better be good,_" were the first words out of her mouth, "_I'm in the middle of some very delicate work, and-_"

"Silver's gone." Silence.

"_...Silver's WHAT?!_"

Ohhhh, yeah. She was going to kick his ass within the hour. Well, he mentally sighed as he began to recount his tale, such was life when one worked for Team Rocket.

* * *

He'd been in New Bark Town since early that morning, Blues faithfully at his side as he'd scouted the town, found Elm's Lab, and took a nice vantage point to watch from. Silver's eyes narrowed in concentration as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ears. He'd show them. He'd show them all. They thought he couldn't take care of himself, but he could, and he would prove it- and then Archer and Ariana would _have_ to let him go outside. Maybe, he found himself thinking, they'd even send him on missions. He'd be way better than any of those weak grunts that wandered around the base, anyways. If they wanted his dad to come back, they would need him, whether they liked it or not.

But to be honest, he wasn't sure how any of them managed stuff like this, in the first place. He hadn't moved in hours, and he was starting to get a little sore. Blues was restless, as well- he kept shifting and flitting around in the nearby tall grass, ears perked for any small sound coming their way. Silver had to keep scolding him, telling him to stay close. He didn't need either of them getting caught- by _anyone_. He wasn't stupid. He knew Petrel would have figured out by now that he'd left the base, and he knew Ariana and Archer probably knew, too. He didn't know if they would tell Proton, but either way, Proton was busy in Azalea, so he was pretty sure he wouldn't have to worry about him.

To be honest, Silver wasn't sure, exactly what he was doing here. Well, he knew _what_ he was doing- he was waiting for Elm and his assistant to leave so he could break in and steal some shit. The problem was, he wasn't sure what he was going to be stealing. He couldn't see a whole lot from his window besides a whole lot of bookshelves covered with, as anyone with a vague understanding of the world could probably guess, books. Lots and lots of books. And it wasn't that Silver didn't like books, or anything- no, he loved books, he loved reading, and he knew, oh, he _knew_ that Petrel was hiding a stash of books from him and he was determined to one day both find and read the entire stash. But he didn't see the point in stealing books, especially not books belonging to a researcher. They would be very difficult to sell, and being so specific, more likely to get him caught.

A few hours later, with no real change to the situation- that being, Elm and his assistant remained in the lab, Blues ran aroud in the grass behind him trying to fight things, and he was growing terribly, terribly hungry- something happened. Something Silver hadn't been expecting. A girl, about his age from the looks of it, wearing whites and pale blues, from the knit-cap worn over her raven hair to her shorts and sneakers. The only pop of color on her, in fact, was the red shirt she wore. Why would that girl be at the lab, he found himself wondering. She looked fragile. Weak. Like he could easily break her with nothing more than a strong grip. Silver had to pause and laugh at himself for that thought- he was starting to sound like Proton. Nevertheless, he continued to watch, intruiged, as the girl and the professor talked before she was directed over a machine, where she spent a few minutes staring at it, then, smiling, leaned in and withdrew a red and white sphere- a pokeball. Elm had pokemon? Well, well. It looked like Silver knew what he was going to steal, after all.

He continued to watch as she let the pokemon out, a small blue amphibious-looking thing- a totodile. She cuddled it and named it and picked it up as she laughed a reply to something Elm said before she was out the door, and Silver made sure to watch while she left town, too. He couldn't believe someone like her got to be a trainer. She'd probably trip on a rock and break her neck or try to feed her totodile and have it bite her hand off. What a waste of time. He'd never be a weakling like that. Frowning, Silver returned to watching through the window, and was surprised by the fact that it seemed another kid had gone in- this one still around his age, but male. He looked similar to the girl in that he bore the same dark hair, but he wore no white, only red and yellow and black, but he had this dopey sort of grin on his face. This guy looked like the utterly clueless sort, but nevertheless he shook hands with El, chatted with him for a while, and then pulled another pokeball out of the machine. What he let out was small and mouse-like, with flames on its back- cyndaquil. And he laughed and petted it and let it ride on his shoulder as he thanked Elm and left. Silver couldn't see him making a decent trainer, at all. Too spacey, not enough discipline, and not firm enough to command his pokemon well. In other words, a total loser. If these were the kinds of people who were being let loose into the world to journey, Silver had no idea why the Executives thought he would get himself hurt, somehow. He was at least three times more capable than either of those two kids.

He waited, watching to see if a third trainer came, but no one ever showed up. Eventually, the assistant suggested that he and Elm break for dinner, and Elm seemed to agree, because not a minute later, they had hung up their labs coats and left the building, locking the front door behind them. There was no time to waste. Silver ran to the corner of the building, watching until they were out of sight, and then he returned to the window.

"Blues," he whispered, just loud enough for his pokemon to hear, "break the glass." The sneasel nodded and bounded over, leaping up to slash at the window. The glass shattered and fell, and Silver quickly slipped inside, taking care not to hurt himself on the shards. There was no doubt an alarm, of course- the professor would likely be back soon. But Silver wasn't interested in taking much. No, he wanted one thing. He wanted a pokemon.

He beelined for the machine in the corner, snorting when he saw it was still on and open, a singular pokeball sitting inside of it. How carless. No wonder those two morons were chosen to get pokemon. With a professor as unprofessional as this, Silver was just surprised he hadn't sent _handicapped_ children out into the wilderness on their own. Steadily, he reached out, and clasped the pokeball in his grasp, his stoic expression giving way to a grin. This was so easy. He didn't know why Ariana and Archer wouldn't let him go on any missions- look how far he'd already gotten! Petrel, at least, would be proud when he returned with his loot. Of course, that was as long as he didn't get caught, and that meant it was probably time for him to leave. Just as quietly as he had entered, Silver slipped back out the window, and ran as fast as he could out of town.

He hadn't been expecting to run into the girl with the white hat the moment he got into Cherrygrove.

* * *

"Fuck this," Petrel muttered to himself as he trudged along through tall grass and woods. He'd been searching for hours. Helix flew overhead, transformed into a noctowl so he could see better in the twilight. They still hadn't found Silver- and he knew better than to turn back up at base empty-handed. Ariana had already made it very clear what would happen to him if he did, and it involved some rather sharp, pointy objects, his ass, kerosene, and fire. And, if he was lucky, she would knock him out before she castrated him with a rusty spoon. Either way, of course, he wished to avoid the situation altogether, and that meant he either found Silver, or high-tailed it to Azalea, kidnap Proton, and make one of his oh-so-daring escapes to Hoenn. As far as he knew, neither Archer nor Ariana knew of their beach house, there, so he figured they'd be safe, at least for a while. To be honest, he considered doing that most days- Team Rocket was more or less dead, in his opinion. They were grasping at straws, at best.

"Hey, Helix," he greeted as the ditto-turned-noctowl perched on his shoulder when he stopped to take a quick break, "how you doin', buddy, huh? Been a while since you got exercise like this." Helxi hooted at him in reply, cocking his head, and Petrel tried to give him a smile in return. "Yeah, I know. I screwed up. I should have been keeping a better eye on him, but... y'know... that's how shit rolls, I guess. I think Ari's being hypocritical as all hell, though, you remember what happened when we were little? I was like, eight, or something, and she lost me in the base. Me and Alex both, actually. You remember Alex, don't you, Helix? I bet you miss Slim, huh? You guys were always close." Helix didn't reply; he merely spread his wings and took to the sky again, and Petrel let out a long, suffering sigh. This was starting to get ridiculous. Maybe he really _should_ start looking into one of his daring escape plans.

He was just about to call Proton on his pokegear and suggest they do just that when he heard Helix let out a hunting screech, and saw the fake bird dive. Seconds later, he heard another voice, a human voice, cry out and order a pokemon to attack with Ice Punch, and Petrel immediately felt a wave of relief wash over him. He dashed forward, pushing through some brush, to find, just as he'd hoped, one small red-haired boy with a sneasel, desperately trying to hit Helix, who simply flew out of the way of any attack the sneasel used.

"Hey," he said at the boy's back, "are you seriously trying to punch a bird?" The boy flinched and turned around, scowling in a manner that reminded Petrel way too much of Giovanni, which, in turn, sort of made him nostalgic. He missed the old days when they could still work normal-person hours and eat regular-sized meals.

"Dammit!" Silver growled. "I didn't think you'd find me... Where'd you get the bird...?" Petrel glanced up and beckoned to Helix, who returned to his natural form and plummeted to the earth, landing with a squish. "...Oh. Well, that explains it."

"And now that _my_ explaining is done," Petrel added, "it's time for _yours_. What the hell were you even thinking, kiddo? You know you're not supposed to go outside. It's dangerous for us, out here. You were safer in the base."

"I hated it there," Silver replied stubbornly. "I'm not weak. I can take care of myself."

"You're twelve."

"I'm a pokemon trainer."

"Your card is fake. I hope you know that."

"I don't care! I'm a trainer! I have two pokemon already, and I'm going to get a badge!"

"A badge? The hell would you do with a badge?"

"I'd get stronger. I'd get stronger and I'd _wreck_ every single weakling I come across, even you!" Petrel raised an eyebrow at that, amused.

"So I'm weak, now, am I?"

"You let Ariana and Archer push you around. You're dependent on _so_ many damn things!"

"Language, Silver."

"You can't even function properly with Proton gone! Face it, Petrel- you're a bleeding heart with no initiative! That's why Archer and Ariana won't let you out!"

"And you think you're stronger than me because you can climb out a window and take the stroll to Cherrygrove by yourself?"

"I _know_ I am."

"Alright. Prove it. Let's go a round."

"I'm not going to battle _you_, you cheater!"

"Then I win by default, which means I'm stronger than you, and you have to listen to me. Now come on, we're going back to the base, Ariana's furious enough as it is."

"I'm not going back."

"Look, Silver, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way, I drag you back kicking and screaming. The hard way, I have Helix ingest you and he won't spit you out until I bring you to Ariana, and boy, you do _not_ want to be around her right now, she's _pissed_. Probably PMS'ing, too."

The boy didn't reply. He merely glared and took several steps back, eyes burning in anger all too similar to Ariana's. The resemblance made him shrink a little, he was ashamed to admit. But nevertheless, he stood his ground, crossing his arms patiently as he waited for Silver to give in and follow him.

"No." The boy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No. I'm not going back. I'm not going to spend one more _fucking_ day trapped in that cesspool! I'm _done_! With all of it- you, Archer, Ariana, Proton, the grunts, _all of it_! I don't care what you say or try to do, I'm never going back to that _cage_!" He took a few steps backwards; Petrel made no move to chase after him. "Don't follow me." And with that, he was gone, sneasel bounding along after him as Petrel merely watched his retreating figure.

He knew what it was like to be trapped. It was a terrible feeling, and one he'd never wish upon the boy. As much as he wanted to chase him down and drag him back to the base whether he wanted to go or not, he didn't. He couldn't. Just like with Tab, he'd have to let the boy go. Find his own strength. But how would he explain this to Ariana? It had been one thing with his aunt and uncle- he didn't have to deal with them on a daily basis. Ariana, on the other hand, he had to deal with all the time, and he wouldn't put it passed her to actually castrate him with a rusty spoon. Hoenn was really starting to sound like a good idea. With a sigh, he turned around, and began heading back towards Mahogany; he'd probably make it back by morning.

He knew, of course, that this wasn't the last time he was going to see the boy. He'd come around to battle the four of them, eventually, if that conversation had been any indication. He'd want to prove to the four of them he was stronger than all of them combined. Maybe by then, he'd have enough experience to actually beat them. Maybe by beating them, he'd do the sensible thing and call the cops to come clean up afterwards. Petrel sincerely hoped he would, at least.

It would be a testament to how well they'd been able to raise the child, considering the circumstances, if he became a crusader of justice and sided with the law.

* * *

**I'm excited because Slowpoke Well. Brace yourselves for epic.**

**Also, if it seems weird that one second Silver is all like YEAH POGEYMANZ STEALZ and then the next yelling at Petrel, it's because he's a sore loser, but we all know that, already. :3 Also, I just prefer Kris to Lyra. Nothing against Lyra, of course, but Kris came first.**


	32. Interference Aversion

Disclaimer: Gotta disclaim fast.

When Proton had first thought about spending a few months in a well with a harem of slowpoke, he thought he'd be having a wonderful, wonderful time. He had been so very, very wrong.

His first issue was the grunts- he was used to them fearing him, of course, he was legendary within the organization for his short fuse and sadistic tendencies. Never before, however, did he have to put up with them around the clock, and _Lugia_, it was fuckin' _annoying_. They sniveled and whimpered and looked so fuckin' puntable when he just gave them his regular non-expressive _stare_. They had the _audacity_ to talk about him behind his back, too, something about some weird look in his eyes. Every time he overheard them talking about it it pissed him off. Maybe one of the grunts would go 'missing' soon- that would teach them to disrespect him.

His second issue, of course, was that Twitch liked to go exploring a lot, and more often than not he spent his time searching for his little bat than actually hacking off slowpoke tails. Usually his searches ended in frustration, because Twitch knew how to hide, and hide well, and he would take it out on the grunts or Kevin, going right back to his first issue. This was only made up for by the fact that whenever Twitch got sleepy, he would return to settle down on Proton's shoulder or cling to the front of his uniform and snooze, which was in all honesty pretty adorable, though he would never say so aloud.

His final issue was being stuck in a fucking well with nothing to fucking do and not having seen Petrel in months. He could barely stand a few weeks sleeping on the couch without the man- living across the entire region from him was pure _torture_. This also led to bullying of the grunts, and again his first issue, things becoming naught more than a circle of getting angry and trying to kill things before Kevin stepped in to calm him down, which only worked half of the time, anyways- the other half it just enraged Proton _more_ because that _wasn't_ Kevin's fucking job, that was _Decarli's _fucking job, and Decarli was _gone_ and he couldn't fucking handle the change!

He'd long since moved into the very back of the cave, with the slowpoke and his knives and his sleeping bag and pokegear. The grunts mostly stayed out of the way, taking up guard positions that Proton laid out for them when he'd noticed their cuts were below par. The only one who braved his end of the cave regularly was Kevin, who set up his sleeping bag nearby and spent most of his free time playing with his rattata, like he was doing now. Proton merely watched. There were no tails to cut off, today- while he would love to get a slowpoke with a half-grown stump and cut it off so he could actually have something _decent_ to eat for once, they needed the money more than he needed his fix, and no one was going to buy half a slowpoke tail. Quality was important, after all. At least he had his nightly chat with Petrel to look forward to, eventually.

He was starting to get pretty hungry, though. Maybe Twitch would come down if he got some good food. Idly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet, thumbing through the few bills he had left before he grabbed one, wadded it up, did some mental calculations, and threw it, hitting Kevin square in the back of the head. The blond brushed at his hair and turned, frowning.

"Why do you keep throwing shit at me?" he asked. Proton shrugged one shoulder.

"Mostly because I'm bored, and I can," he replied evenly. "But also I'm hungry. Go into town and pick up some food. Something good. Get, like, tacos, or something. I could really go for some _Taco Beldum_ right now."

"No _Taco Beldum_ in Azalea, I've told you already." Kevin's frown deepened. "It's what you sent me out for, last time. And, anyways, we should probably send a grunt out, this is the third time you've tried to send me out for fast food this week."

"If there's no tacos, I want a burger. There has to a burger joint around here, somewhere. Go find something. It's an order." Kevin sighed and stood, throwing Proton a lazy salute as he scooped up both Ribbon and the money.

"Alright," he agreed wearily, "but if anything's dead when I come back, I'm telling Petrel."

"_Ooh_, so _scared_." Proton rolled his eyes. "If anything's dead when you come back and you try to tell Petrel, I'm killing _you_. I've already had to replace a lieutenant once, I won't mind doing it again."

"Of course you wouldn't. I'll be back in an hour or so, give or take."

"Take your time. Not like any of us are going anywhere." Kevin muttered something under his breath and headed for the well's exit. Proton watched him go, uncaring, and then huffed in boredom, flopping back onto the cold stone and dirt beneath him.

"Twitch, I know you're up there," he said after a long moment of silence. "Get your blue ass down here, I wanna cuddle something but I don't wanna get up." He waited a few minutes, and when Twitch didn't appear, he let out an exasperated sigh and threw an arm across his face. It wouldn't hurt to take a little nap, as long as Kevin woke him up when he got back. Or he could call Petrel, provided he wasn't busy. Last he heard, he'd gotten into some deep with Ariana for losing Silver. Proton wondered if the kid would ever show up at the well, and if he did, what would happen. He knew Ariana would want him to bring the kid back to Mahogany, but from what Petrel had told him... Well, it wouldn't be a good idea to listen to Ariana, from what he understood. But he didn't want to worry about that, right now. Right now was nap time, though with Twitch being an asshole and not coming down for cuddles, Proton wasn't sure if he was going to be able to get to sleep, this early. With another sigh, he reached out and grabbed his sleeping bag, dragging it over to use as a pillow. If he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, sometimes he could pretend he was out camping with Petrel.

The next thing Proton knew, he was jolting awake from the cries of pokemon and the orders of trainers- one of his grunts, and some kid, from the sounds of it. Well, fuck. How'd he sleep through someone getting into the cave? Almost all in one motion, he pushed himself to his feet and kicked his sleeping bag to the side, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth. From there, he grabbed his pokeballs and put them back on his belt before glancing around to see if Kevin had made it back, yet- from the looks of it, he was still out. Proton supposed he hadn't been asleep for that long, then.

"Twitch!" he cried. "Twitch, come down, we've got company! I'm serious this time, Twtich, get down here!" For once, his zubat listened, and soon enough he was clinging to Proton's shoulder. The executive did one last check- made sure his uniform was in presentable order, made sure he had his hat, made sure his sleeping bag was out of sight, made sure his pokeballs were still on his belt- and frowned when he heard the tell-tale sound of a fainting ekans. Well, there went his last grunt. Hopefully it was due to incompetence on the grunt's part rather than an actual strong trainer. Soon, a figure appeared in the darkness- a girl. She looked to be no older than Silver was, with dark hair and a white knit-cap. She was small and fragile-looking. Proton was willing to bet he could snap her spine by poking her too hard. Maybe he'd test that theory, later.

"You!" the girl said, striding forward. "You're the one in charge, aren't you?! C'mon, let's battle! I'm kicking you all out of here!" Her pokemon, a sentret that looked to have quite the wild personality, stood up on its tail and threw a few practice punches at the air.

"Well, well," Proton said quietly, glancing her over. "What do we have here- a little girl out all alone on a stroll through some caves? Didn't your mama ever tell you not to go wandering around on your own, girl?"

"Shut up and battle me, already!" the girl demanded. Proton couldn't help but laugh. That was cute. No, really. She was fuckin' adorable.

"Clueless kid," he chuckled. "That's why I hate kids, you know. No respect for their elders. No thinkin' before they act. You could piss someone off real bad if you do somethin' without givin' it some thought. Like me. You know..." Another laugh. "I'm often labeled as the scariest and cruelest guy in Team Rocket. Are you so sure you wanna battle me?" The girl didn't reply; she merely furrowed her brow in an attempt at an intimidating scowl. "Listen to me, doll-face. I _strongly_ urge you to stay out of Team Rocket's business. You never know what'll happen if you go sticking your nose into a place it doesn't belong."

"Get 'im, Ricky!" It seemed the girl had enough of the talking, and she pointed at Proton for her sentret, who threw another couple practice punches and leaped forward, dashing towards the green-haired executive.

"Twitch, two minutes. Drain it dry," he ordered. The transition was immediate. His usually shy, quiet zubat launched itself from his shoulder, screeching angrily as he zipped down to meet the sentret head-on, battering it with his wings. The sentret cried out in pain and scratched at Twitch with its claws, but the little zubat did his master proud and twisted away and let loose a supersonic. Ricky began stumbling around, dazed and confused, before Twitch sunk his little claws into the thing, opened his mouth, and jammed his teeth into the furry pokemon's body. Proton smirked as his bat sucked and sucked and drank the rat's blood until it fell over- not fainted. Twitch never left a pokemon just fainted. The girl's eyes widened.

"Ricky!" she said. "Ricky, c'mon, get up! Get away from him!" She rushed forward and batted at Twitch until he took back to the air, digging in her bag for a revive that wouldn't work. Such a naïve child. A weak child. Why was she wearing so much white, anyways? Proton's eyes narrowed as she realized her revives weren't doing anything and began panicking. What, did she think she was_ pure_, or something? Little miss perfect? What a joke.

"Are you serious?" he asked quietly. "Did you _really_ think you could come in here and mess with our plans? Are you _that_ stupid, girl?" He advanced on her; she glanced up, and her panic increasing, grabbed another pokeball from her belt and threw it, a totodile appearing in a flash of light. "This again? Twitch, kill it." He spared the pokemon nothing more than a glance before continuing his advance on the girl, eyes slowly drinking in her form. She looked so scared. He wondered why. He hadn't done much of anything yet, had he? It seemed he answered himself when his switchblade flicked open. The girl let out a stifled gasp and backed into the cave wall.

"Stay away from me," she said defiantly, despite her trembling figure. She was brave- that was easily broken. Abruptly, he slammed his hand against the stone next to her face, trapping her with his arm, and leaned down to look her in the eye.

"No." He traced the tip of his knife along her neck lightly, not even leaving a mark, but effectively capturing the girl's attention, nonetheless. "Tell me your name." She didn't answer; her hands clenched into fists. Proton's eyes narrowed, and he swiped the blade across her cheek, making her squeak and leaving a shallow cut bleeding. "I said _tell me your name_. You like your eyes, don't you? They're so pretty. You don't want to lose either of them, right?" She took the hint.

"K-Kris," she stammered. "M-my name is Kris."

"Kris," he repeated slowly. For whatever reason, the word left his tongue bitter, and not the good kind, like when he kissed Petrel. It was the same bitter as when he'd recounted to the purple executive his tales of his drug-dependent mother and cheating scumbag of a father. He hadn't tasted that bitterness in quite some time, and now that it was back, it was pissing him off. He knew what he had to do.

"You're very pretty," he said softly into her ear, "but I'll make you beautiful. Then you can be with your pokemon again, and you won't ever cause trouble for my organization, after this."

She tried to shove him away; he grabbed her wrists in one hand and pinned them to the rocky wall, sneering and slashing at her clothes. When he was done with her, all that white was going to be fuckin' _red_. She twisted and twisted and struggled and he was about to make good on his threat and take out one of her eyes when he was met the distinctly unpleasant feeling of a surprisingly powerful kick to the crotch. And by unpleasant, he meant painful as hell, and he grunted and doubled over. Kris took that opportunity to run, towards the blue on the far side of the area- Twitch? No, no it was that totodile. What happened to Twitch...? Proton's eyes soon caught sight of his poor little bat on the floor, unconscious, and he growled, returning him to his pokeball before letting out the koffing he was raising for Petrel.

"You little bitch!" he snarled. "Kill 'em both, Ozone! Choke 'em out!" The koffing let out something like a chortle and began expelling its fumes, but Kris ordered her totodile to attack, and it shot a powerful watergun at the young koffing, knocking it out with a crit. Proton gritted his teeth and returned Ozone, too. "For a kid to be this good... I didn't see it coming... I'll fuckin' _kill you_, bitch!"

"Mist, water gun! _Water gun!_" Proton threw his hand up and grimaced as the totodile opened its jaws wide and sprayed him with a blast of water. It wasn't like a hydro pump, or anything, he could still walk, despite the pressure, and so slowly and steadily he made his way towards the totodile, which was starting to look more and more concerned as he approached. "Run, Mist!" The water stopped; the totodile turned tail to listen to his trainer, but Proton was faster than the thing, and he aimed a kick at it, knocking it into a rock formation and effectively knocking it out. He was about to go over and skin the thing alive to make himself a fancy new wallet- that would show the girl for messing with him- when Kris recalled it.

"You see, now?" he asked sedately. "You're just a little girl. Your pokemon are weak. I could do anything I wanted, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

"I'll scream," Kris threatened, taking a step back. "We're close to town, someone will hear me-"

"I'll slit your throat if you try." Proton advanced, matching her movements. "No one will ever find your body."

"Stay away from me."

"You're in no position to order me around."

"I said _stay away from me!_ Get _back!_" Another step backwards; another forwards. They became still for what seemed to be an eternity, just waiting for the other to make their move, until finally, it seemed Kris scraped up the courage to bolt towards the exit of the well. She never made it.

It took less than a few seconds for Proton to catch up to her, to tackle her and grapple until he had her pinned to the ground and reaching up with his knife to dig the point into her neck just enough to draw a few beads of blood. She yelled for help and pushed at him, desperately trying to get him off of her, but he merely let his knife do the talking as he licked his lips. Lugia, it had been too long. Way too long. He'd forgotten how much fun this was. As he let his knife move lower and lower, he was vaguely aware that she was crying, and he felt a surge of power course through him. It was positively euphoric.

He was just about to move on to his favorite part of the game, that being carving one of his many artistic patterns into her flesh, when a startled cry came from off towards the direction of the exit, and he frowned, glancing up to see who had the _balls_ to interrupt him in the middle of his stress-relief. It just so happened to be Kevin, who was staring on, wide-eyed, as he held a couple fast food bags in his arms.

"Get back to the entrance and stand guard," Proton ordered through gritted teeth. "If anyone else walks in here, it's your head." Slowly, Kevin set the bags down and raised his hands in a placating motion.

"Executive," he said, "what are you doing?"

"What does it _look_ like?!" Proton snapped. "I said get your ass to the entrance, Seliber! I'm _busy_!"

"Please," Kris choked out through her tears, "please, _help_." The green executive growled and pressed his knife right back up against her jugular. Kevin took a few hesitant steps forward.

"Proton, that is an _underage_ _girl_," he said carefully, "you need to let her up _right now_. If Petrel found out about this-"

"Yeah, well he _ain't_ gonna find out, _is he_?! Who's gonna tell him, huh?! _You_?! I'll kill you before that happens!"

"Look, sir, this is _wrong_ even by _our_ standards-"

"I didn't ask _you_, Seliber! Get the fuck off and let me have my fun!"

"They're going to find the body no matter what you do. You know that, right?" Proton paused and spared Kevin another glance, frowning, though he didn't reply. His lieutenant took that opportunity to press on. "When they find the body, it's gonna be on the news. When it's on the news, you can bet your ass that Petrel will see it. And when he sees it, I can guarantee you he's never gonna be able to look at you the same way, again." Again, Proton didn't reply, he just scowled at Kevin for a moment longer before turning his gaze down to the poor girl trapped beneath him and huffing in annoyance.

"I bet you're wondering what we're even doing, here," he said after a moment, folding his blade back up and stashing it in his back pocket, as per usual. "Team Rocket did indeed 'break up', three years ago- but we continued our activities underground. All this time, we've remained strong. A small obstacle like _you_ won't be much of a problem for our mission." With another huff, he got to his feet and stepped back, watching as the trembling girl pulled herself up and backed towards the exit. "I advise you to be _very_ afraid of what is to come." He turned towards where he stashed his sleeping bag and backpack; Kris practically flew as she fled. Kevin ran a hand through his hair in distress.

"I can't fucking believe it," he said weakly after a moment. "You tried to rape a little girl." Proton rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't gonna rape her," he denied, "I was just gonna slit her throat."

"Like that's any better! Fuck this, man..." With a shake of his head, Kevin went over to his own stash of supplies and began packing up.

"Oh? Where are _you_ going?"

"She's probably gonna go tell the cops, right? I figured you were gonna order us out of here. We've been discovered, anyways, and the last thing we need is another raid. Right?"

"Fuck, I hate it when you make sense. Fine. Carry my shit for me, I'm still hungry."

"Ho-Oh, how Decarli ever managed to put up with you, I can't imagine..."

"I said carry my shit, not back-sass me. Now shut up, I'm gonna call HQ and let 'em know we're on our way back." Kevin quieted obediently as Proton fished his pokegear out of his pocket and hit the speed dial for Petrel's number, waiting patiently as he listened to it ring a few times before, eventually, his lover picked up.

"_Pro? Hey, what's up? It's a little early for a chat, isn't it? Don't you guys have tails to harvest,or something?_"

"Nice to talk to you, too, P," Proton replied. "Some kid found us, chances are the cops'll be here within the hour. We're coming back, operation's a bust. It's okay, though, we still have plenty of tails we can sell, just... they're our last ones." He heard Petrel groan from the other line.

"_Damn kids, with their ruining-of-the-plans. I hope to Mew this doesn't end up being another Silph. I guess I'll go ahead and let Archer know?_"

"Yeah," he said, "that would be great. And don't take up all the hot water, the first thing I'm doing when I get back is take a nice, long shower. I think my _grime_ has grime."

"_Alright. See you soon._"

After bidding Petrel goodbye and hanging up, Proton led Kevin out of the cave, picking up their grunts as they went along. They were out of the well just in time, it seemed, because as soon as they'd made it passed the initial tree line of the Ilex Forest, they heard the tell-tale sound of sirens. To be honest, Proton was surprised the girl had been able to gather herself to quickly- most people were too scared to go for help after experiencing that sort of thing, weren't they? Or at least, his grunts always were- Petrel had scolded him enough times for his subordinates showing up with several-day-old wounds that hadn't been disinfected for him to treat, so he assumed they were. Either way, the girl was brave- not stupid, really. She was smart enough to fear him, after all. But he figured 'brave' worked perfectly well. Hopefully she'd take his advice and stay out of their way.

"Hey." Kevin hung back from the group of grunts- with their destination already determined, and everyone having their own maps on their pokegears, Proton was able to just chill a few meters back and let his subordinates wander. Normally, Kevin walked up front and chatted with the grunts. He hoped whatever he was being bothered for, it was important.

"What's up?" he asked, scraping some dirt out from under his fingernails. Yeah, he really needed a shower. This was a disgrace. It was _way_ too much like living in that damned RV when he was a kid.

"I thought you only had two pokemon?" Okay, so Kevinwas bothering him for _smalltalk_. At least it wasn't any more rape accusations, he mused as he peered down at this third pokeball.

"What sort of rock have you been living under, Seliber? I've always had three pokemon."

"No. No, you haven't. Five days ago you only had Twitch and Ozone."

"So it it such a big deal that I caught something?"

"Not really, I guess, but what is it?"

"That ain't any of your business."

"C'mon, tell me? I wanna know."

"Yeah, well, I want Decarli back working for me, but we can't have everything we want in life, can we?" Kevin pouted, and Proton smirked slightly.

"You're an ass," his childhood friend announced.

"Is this news to anyone?" Kevin's pout deepened, and he seemed to drop the subject. Proton snickered slightly and took to checking the news on his pokegear. A few seconds later, however, he felt an odd pressure on his belt, and looked up in time to see Kevin leaping away with his third pokeball. "Oi! Dammit, Seliber, I said it wasn't your fuckin' business!" He dashed after him and tried to grab it, but Kevin merely held it over his head, out of Proton's reach.

"And I wanna know what you caught!" Kevin replied. He pressed the button to expand the pokeball and peered inside, despite Proton's constant swearing. "...A slowpoke? You're actually bringing a _slowpoke_ with you back to base?"

"Give it back, or I swear to Lugia, I will cut you," Proton growled. "Dope is _mine_, and no one's allowed to touch his pokeball!" Kevin laughed as he tossed it back to him.

"You named your slowpoke _Dope_? You're a riot."

"I think it fits. Slowpoke act like they're higher than Petrel on hyper potion. So I named him Dope. Big deal."

"I bet he'll get a kick out of it when you tell him. You're gonna tell him, right?"

"Of course I'm gonna fuckin' tell him, it's _Petrel_." Proton rolled his eyes and clipped Dope's pokeball back to his belt. "That reminds me. You know how you're always hittin' on me around him and shit?"

"Oh, that?" Kevin laughed again and nodded. "Yeah. You want an explanation, right?"

"Fuck your explanation, I want you to fuckin' stop it. It pisses him off and he gets all fuckin' possessive and shit and then I can't walk the next morning."

"I only _do it_ because it pisses him off." Proton scowled at him.

"You're more of an ass than _I_ am. So you're not into me, then?" Kevin shook his head, grinning.

"Nah, sorry, man," he replied. "Not particularly interested in the D. But I did notice, those first few months I was working for you, how upset he always got when I hung around you, but he was always so chill otherwise- it's funny seeing him get angry, like that."

"Either way, stop it. I don't think I can handle much more of him like that."

"Aw, you know you like it."

"Like hell, bastard!"

Their bickering and bantering would continue over the course of their two-day trek back to Mahogany. Kevin promised not to tell Petrel the details of what had gone down. They stuck to the simple story of the girl lucking her way into defeating both of Proton's pokemon. Of course, now that meant Proton would really have to start putting effort into Twitch's training. The little bat, as adorable as he was, needed to get stronger, so he could evolve. Where a zubat failed, surely a golbat would succeed. And better yet, now Proton had a stable source of slowpoke tail that he no longer had to purchase. With Dope, he would be able to have his fix as often as he wanted. And maybe he would even be able to talk Petrel into eating it, too, as long as he no longer projectile vomited after doing so.

They may have lost the Slowpoke Well, but that was alright. They would be able to carry out their plans. They would just need to plan a little more carefully, was all. Look out, Goldenrod- Team Rocket was going to pull out all the stops. They would find their leader, or die trying.

* * *

**Slowpoke Well! -happiness- But that means we're getting close to the end, too! D: -Sad- There's less than ten chapters left, according to my outlines. I'm gonna be super super sad when this is over. Oh, well. Then I get to work on new stuff. :3 Like the one I'm planning where Proton and Petrel go camping and Proton gets amnesia. That one will be fun, I think.**


	33. Painful Memory

Disclaimer: Sometimes, while I'm laying in my bed and gazing up at the stars, I think 'where the hell did my disclaimer go?'

While there was nothing at all homey about the Rocket warehouse in Mahogany, there _was_ something comforting about seeing it. Proton wasn't sure why, of course- they were at even more of a risk operating directly in town, like this. But as he flashed his card to the grunts working the fake giftshop, he couldn't help but feel terribly excited. He was home. He was going to see Petrel again. It was going to be the best day he had in quite a while.

There were plenty of grunts who were friends with the ones in his division, and he paused and watched as they greeted each other and went off their separate ways to catch up. Kevin, even, seemed to have himself a pretty female grunt to meet, practically picking her up as he hugged her. Proton couldn't help but snort as he watched them head off down one of the hallways- it was Decarli all over again. Fuck, he missed Decarli. But that wasn't important, right now- he had something better to do than angst over the loss of old friends. It didn't take him long to spot Petrel- the man towered easily over the grunts still waiting on their friends, and it took all of his self control not to run up and leap into his arms like a skitty on catnip. He strode towards him purposefully, stopping just in front of him and peering up to meet his eyes, relinquishing a small smile, which Petrel returned.

"Pro," he greeted.

"Petrel," Proton replied. Petrel motioned off down the hall, and the two set off, heading towards the lone elevator on the far side of the base. They nodded to grunts as they passed, never saying a word until they were within said elevator, and Petrel jammed the button for their floor. The instant the doors were closed, everything changed. They practically flew at each other, locking into a tight, secure embrace, Proton burying his face into the crook of his lover's neck as Petrel pressed a kiss to his temple and gave him a comforting squeeze. Their breathing became heavy and desperate as both attempted to maintain their composure- Archer would have a conniption if any of the grunts found them both breaking down in the elevator.

"I've missed you," Petrel said quietly after a moment, "_Mew_, I've missed you so _much_..."

"_Fuck_," Proton murmured, "I missed you, too." He pulled back just long enough to see the longing, the _need_ in Petrel's eyes before their lips crashed together and he was suddenly pinned against the elevator wall, not knowing who initiated the contact but certainly not caring, even as the doors opened and Petrel hoisted him up with a grunt, carrying him out and down the hallway. The entire trip was honestly a blur in his mind, though he was vaguely aware of Petrel bracing him back against the door to their quarters as he fumbled with his keycard before it gave way and they slipped inside. It locked automatically behind them.

* * *

Some time later, the junior two executives were simply kicking back on their futon, watching the news as Petrel had a smoke and Proton snuggled close to him, making up for the months they'd spent apart. After their initial interactions, Proton had gotten the shower he so coveted, and with enough pouting, he'd suckered Petrel into joining him. Despite knowing just how long Proton spent in the field, the purple executive had been astounded by how much dirt and grime had been able to cake over his skin. Then, with his uniform in the wash, he'd changed into a fresh pair of boxers and t-shirt, and had practically collapsed back onto their bed, announcing aloud that he took back everything bad he'd ever said about it. Petrel had laughed at him.

"You know," Petrel said as Proton struggled to stay awake, "this is the first time in a while my rings have held up, so well." As if to prove a point, he blew a smoke ring towards the ceiling and watched as it floated upwards, perfectly formed, before dissipating.

"You need to cut back on the cigs," Proton murmured sleepily, "bad for you." Petrel rolled his eyes.

"So I've heard. Besides, you can't talk, you smoke, too," he protested. He moved his arm to give Proton some space as he shifted and turned to rest his head against Petrel's chest so he could stare up at him.

"Stopped," he replied simply. "You need to, too. It'll kill you, P. Slowly. But it will." Petrel rolled his eyes and let out a greatly exaggerated sigh before he groped around on the table near them for an ashtray, snubbing the cigarette out. Proton smiled slightly even as he closed his eyes and yawned. "Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever, you fucking incubus. Hey, what's my rate?" It took most of the concentration he had left, but Proton counted Petrel's heartbeats and did some quick mental math before answering.

"Mellow as fuck. You're not high, are you?" Petrel laughed outright at that and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"Only with you," he promised. "...How long are you here, anyways...?"

"Long enough to finish my report on the well, I'd imagine. I need to talk to Archer about that. Is he here?"

"He's coming in, tomorrow. He was pretty aggravated when I told him. I'm just happy he picked up, so I didn't have to call Ariana." He shivered, and it was Proton's turn to laugh.

"She's got you whipped, man," he said. "She's got you whipped, good."

"I honestly don't know what came over her." Petrel shook his head. "I mean, she's gotten upset with me, before, but this was... _wow_. I don't even wanna _remember_ it."

"You are now her bitch. Prepare to bend over."

"Not right _now_, hopefully, my boyfriend would spazz out and try to kill her."

"You're damn right he would. And also, your boyfriend is hungry. He hasn't had anything decent to eat in weeks, and right when he had a double cheeseburger, it was stolen and eaten by his zubat."

"Well, if that was the case, he should have said something earlier so I could have had food waiting for him. Wanna go out, then?" Proton blinked and tilted his head slightly.

"What, you mean to eat?" he asked. "Can we afford it?"

"Nothing fancy," Petrel admitted, "but I know this great little diner in Celadon that we could do, provided you don't mind driving. I still can't believe you managed to get out of the old base with your bike, even now."

"Like I was gonna leave it behind," Proton snorted as he finally sat up and stretched. "You guys had _literally_ just given it to me, how was I supposed to just let it sit there and get impounded?"

"Hey, I'm not complaining." Petrel waited patiently as Proton stood up, then stood himself and followed him towards the closet in Ariana and Archer's room, where they kept all of their clothes in collective. "As long as I don't get the goofy helmet, of course."

"Sorry," Proton said cheekily, "cool helmet is reserved for the driver." Petrel rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"I never get the cool helmet. Just my luck." Proton merely laughed at him.

* * *

He hadn't been sure what to expect when Petrel directed him through the streets of Celadon to the little diner, but it wasn't what he was seeing around him, now. Paraphernalia from the fifties all the way to the seventies covered the walls, including posters and photos of his all-time favorite musical, _Grease_, and to put it bluntly, he was _ecstatic_. It had that _real_ diner feel to it, with the waitresses rolling around on skates, paper straws in their milkshakes, everything practically drowned in grease. There was even a jukebox in the corner next to them, and he had excitedly gone to flip through and find some of his more favorite old-timey songs to play.

"I had a feeling you'd like this place," Petrel laughed after Proton gave him a run-down on _exactly_ what made glass bottles and paper straws the best way to drink pop- and yes, he used the term 'pop', he didn't care, he was _really_ in the moment.

"Nah, I don't like it, I fuckin' _love it_," Proton corrected, grinning around a fry. "Seriously, you are my favorite person. _All-time_ favorite. Marry me, now."

"Would if I could, sir, would if I could." The purple executive smiled and poked his straw at his milkshake, trying to get it to turn into a consistency that was easier to actually drink. "I used to come here all the time with Alex, y'know." Proton instantly frowned, his brow furrowing.

"Holy fuck," he said, swallowing said fry, "do we seriously have to talk about that asshole right now? Shit, first date in months and he _has_ to come up..."

"Hey, you didn't even let me finish!" Petrel pouted. "I was gonna say, y'know, it was never like this. I mean... all we ever talked about was our training and the Team and stuff. Never about things we talk about. I like eating with you here better, I think."

"Aw, don't start gettin' all sappy on me, now." Proton rolled his eyes at him and grabbed another fry, coating it liberally in ketchup before popping it into his mouth. "Save it for the bedroom."

"Don't talk while you're eating something with ketchup on it, huh?"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because it looks like you decided to eat slowpoke tail raw, or something, it's... _ew_."

"Fine. On that note, slowpoke tail sashimi- _never_ try it."

"Oh, okay, even _more_ ew. Why would you try that _ever_?"

"I thought it would be good." Petrel shook his head in disbelief, laughing slightly before attempting to finish the rest of his burger. Each time he tried to take a bite, condiments and onion straws would escape from the back and fall into his basket (another thing Proton loved- burgers and fries always tasted better when they were in those plastic baskets with paper liners for some reason), which was amusing in and of itself, because Petrel would pause, turn the burger around and stare at is suspiciously before trying to take a bite of that side. "P. C'mon. It's gonna fall out no matter what you do, just eat it."

"The onions are the best part," Petrel protested, frowning at his burger. He turned it around again and tried to take another bite, resulting in a loss of more onion straws. Proton rolled his eyes and went back to his fries. From that point, they spent less time talking and more time munching, trying to finish everything even though the both of them were kind of starting to get full- it wasn' every day they were able to eat like this, after all. But it seemed they were doing well enough, because the owner of the little diner, a kindly older woman with curly white hair (and incidentally was the only member of staff on the floor not wearing skates) approached their table, smiling at them.

"How was everything, Lambda?" she asked, handing Petrel the check.

"Oh, it was wonderful, Mable," he replied, "as always. Lance here fanboyed over the décor _and_ the food all night."

"Wow," Proton laughed, "first name basis with the owner? You _did_ come here often."

"It wasn't _that_ often..."

"Oh, don't listen to him," Mable said, "he was in here at least twice a week, with that friend of his from school. First thing he did when his father let him out after his surgery was come here for a shake. Are you two in town for the fireworks?"

"Fireworks?" Petrel repeated as he handed her his cash, "that's tonight? I didn't know." He turned his gaze to Proton. "Wanna go?" The green executive shrugged.

"Sure. Where is it?"

"Just head down the street and to the town square, you won't miss it," Mable said. "I'll be right back with your change, Lambda, dear."

"Oh, no, that's alright," Petrel said, smiling. "Keep it, it's not much, anyways." Proton watched on as Mable squished Petrel in a motherly sort of hug, and was about to make some mocking comment or another when she turned and gave one to him, too, which was kind of awkward for him, but one sharp look from Petrel kept him from doing more than returning it. They bid their goodbyes not long after that and headed outside. It was dark out, the night lit only by the street lights spaced periodically down the road. "I call the cool helmet."

"I told you," Proton said cheekily as he grabbed the goofy helmet and tossed it to Petrel, "only the driver gets the cool helmet. Learn how to drive a motorcycle and maybe next time you can have the cool helmet." He put on said cool helmet and threw his leg over the side and started the engine, waiting patiently as Petrel got on behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist to hold on. For whatever reason, his lover seemed a little stiff, and he couldn't help but wonder why as he kicked up the kickstand. "You sit on this thing so awkwardly. C'mon, P, loosen up a bit. You won't be comfortable being _that_ rigid on this thing."

"I'm _fine_," Petrel muttered, "it's the fucking bike." Proton rolled his eyes and sighed. He revved the engine and pulled out of the lot and into the street, following the directions given to him by Mable. It was a pleasant drive, overall, despite barely knowing where he was. He caught glimpses of stores that seemed interesting, most of them having to do with fashion-forward clothing and leather- he managed to make out a simply fabulous pair of boots in a shop window that he was certain Petrel would like- and made a mental note to go shopping around in the city if he ever got a chance.

"I'm surprised there aren't more people on the road, tonight!" Proton called over the wind whipping passed them.

"I know!" Petrel called back. "I mean, it's only eight! Hey, do me a favor and take a left at this light!"

"Why?" Proton asked. "It's shorter this way, isn't it?" Petrel paused hesitantly.

"It's the scenic route. Take a left."

"Why take a scenic route when it's dark? Besides, we can't take too long, we have to get back to the base before midnight!"

"Proton!" He didn't reply; he merely sped up slightly, smirking as they passed the current light and approached the next. "Pro- Pro, I'm serious! _Dammit Lance, turn left!_"

"Aw, chill out, P, it's just a stoplight. Besides, we're already this close to it." He caught the headlights of a truck out of the corner of his eye, speeding towards the intersection- but of course, they had a green light, meaning the truck would be stopping, and Proton maintained his speed as they finally entered the intersection. Petrel's grip on him tightened, and he was vaguely aware that something was wrong when it felt as though his lover was about to bodily hurl him off the back of the bike. True to his suspicions, of course, the truck came to halt just behind the white stop line, and they passed through the intersection without issue.

"Pull over." Proton's brow furrowed, and he glanced back briefly to see Petrel's eyes wide with irrational terror despite his stony expression. It occurred to him that he may have crossed some sort of line.

"Why?" he asked tentatively.

"_Pull. Over._"

"Alright, alright... Hold on." He pulled into the first parking lot they came across and parked, frowning as Petrel tumbled off the side and and fell to his knees by the wooden fence by the road, retching into the dirt. Proton's brow furrowed, and he balanced his bike on the kickstand before going to kneel next to him, rubbing small circles on his back in an attempt to soothe him. It didn't seem to help much; Petrel still lost the entirety of his burgers and fries to the earth. When he was finished, he merely grimaced and shuffled a few feet away from the mess, sitting back against the fence and burying his face in his hands as he drew his knees up to his chest. Proton merely stared on, not quite sure what was happening, though the instant he saw Petrel's shoulders shaking with restrained sobs, he settled down next to him and wrapped his arms around him.

"Hey," he murmured, "hey, it's alright. Nothing happened. We're okay. What's wrong, Petrel, huh?" The purple-haired man took a few deep breaths and clung to Proton desperately, trying so very hard to get a hold on himself.

"That's where it happened," he managed to choke out. "Th-that was where... Mew, I was so _scared_..." Proton shot a glance back at the intersection, frowning.

"There? You mean... the accident?" Petrel nodded and wiped at his eyes, pulling himself out of Proton's embrace to sit up straight. And then he took a deep breath. And then he began his tale- his normal day of training, his father leaving for the weekend, his date plans with Alex, their wonderful time at the diner, their excitement at the prospect of having the entire weekend to spend together, alone, and then the crash, the pain, the surgery, more pain, more surgery, spending more time hopped up on drugs in the Celadon base's infirmary than he'd ever had in his life, his fight with Alex when he had come back to his senses, his removal from the Espionage department, and then the pain and anger and frustration of his physical therapy. Proton listened, and listened intently, giving him all of his attention and none of his usual attitude.

When Petrel was finished, Proton did nothing more than offer an apology for not listening when he asked him to turn early, pulled him in for another hug, and suggested they simply return home and spend the night cuddling together. Petrel agreed. They spent the rest of the night that way, not even acknowledging when Archer and Ariana came back. Thankfully, their superiors seemed to realize something was up, or maybe didn't have the heart to bother them on their day back together- either way, they were left to their own devices. They fell asleep in each other's arms as the TV broadcast the weather, warm, and happy that, at least for now, they were with each other.

* * *

**Fun fact: That was the first time Petrel had returned to that intersection since the accident. **

**Other fun fact: I have a sub folder in my 'stories' folder titled 'Olympic shipping' where I keep all of the chapters for this story, and it's getting so crowded I think I'll have to make a sub-sub folder for it soon. **


	34. Petrel's Redemption

Disclaimer: This was a triumph. I'm making a note, here: no law suit. It's hard to overstate my satisfaction. Fanfiction dot net: we write what we must because we can, for the good of all of us, except the ones who don't read.

True to Proton's suspicions, Archer was keeping him in the base for the rest of the week, something Petrel was indeed grateful for. He wasn't sure if he would be able to let his lover go so soon after he returned, but at the least, they were getting more than a day together, and he supposed it would do. During the day, they spent most of their time in the infirmary, Proton working on his mission report as Petrel tended to whoever wandered by sick or with wounds. Several times, he had to literally _tackle_ grunts who didn't want their vaccinations, but with such confined space in their HQ, he would be damned if there was an epidemic. At least he no longer had to worry about Silver getting sick. When he mentioned it in passing, Ariana was still unamused.

"I'm so _borrreeeddddd_," Proton whined. Petrel, who had been busy sterilizing some of his equipment for the umpteenth time that day, glanced up at him and grinned before returning diligently to his task.

"What, did you think the HQ was nothing but parties while you were gone?" he asked in reply. "I don't think _anyone_ got high since you left. Except maybe a couple grunts, but Archer dealt with them." Proton rolled his eyes and groaned before slumping forward onto his little desk, pressing random keys on his computer and filling the screen up with something that read akin to 'grehrwneqyhtjnfabntgwqgwrhjtwrehya'.

"No, but I'm still _bored_. Can we go do something?"

"I was thinking about it, but the something I was considering doing spent the morning complaining about how sore he was from last night, so that's out."

"Perv. Get a life."

"There's no such thing as a life when you're an Executive in Team Rocket, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, and doubly so if you're such a fuckin' nerd. Is that a v-pet emulator on your computer?" Again, Petrel paused in his work and frowned, staring at said emulator. His betamon was bouncing rapidly against the side.

"...Maybe," he said carefully. "My real one broke, and I got sad. But this one is even better! Apparently he'll be able to evolve into something even cooler than that metalgreymon I had on the real one. I have my fingers crossed for some sort of epic serpent, Airdramon was badass." Proton smirked and lifted his head off the table slightly.

"You don't actually do any work, do you?" he asked.

"Hey!" Petrel protested. "I do plenty of work! Like just before you came back!"

"Oh? And what, pray tell, did you actually do?"

"...Gave Archer a prostate exam..." Proton sat up completely at that, quirking an eyebrow.

"What?" he laughed. "Wait, _seriously_? Nah, you're shittin' me, aren't you?"

"No," Petrel sighed, sitting down, himself, "but I wish I was. We drew straws to see who had to do it. Luck was _not_ on my side. You know how he gets all paranoid about his health and shit, like last year he was convinced he had appendicitis."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that." Proton nodded. "So? Was he right, for once, or was it another false alarm?" Petrel rolled his eyes and snorted.

"What do _you_ think?" he replied. "This is _Archer_ we're talking about, of course it was a false alarm. All we got out of the experience was Archer realizing he was just pee-shy, and me feeling _totally_ violated."

"Fuckin' Archer," Proton snorted.

"What are we talking about, now?" The junior executives jumped slightly and turned to find Archer standing near the door, arms crossed comfortably and brow raised in mild amusement.

"Dammit, Arch, you nearly gave me a heart-attack," Petrel complained, rolling his eyes. "We were just catching up. Something you needed, jefe?" Proton and Archer stared at him for a moment silently. "_What_? I got bored a few weeks ago and Bernard got upset that I just sat around and didn't so anything so he made me learn Spanish. Kinda. Next I'm moving on to Catalan." Another moment of silence; Archer merely shook his head, dismissing the conversation.

"Actually, there _was_ something I needed," he said carefully, "something rather important that can only be trusted with you, Petrel."

"Please tell me you came to get an enema," Proton laughed. "Holy _shit_, it would be hilarious if you came to get an enema."

"Okay, ground rules- no enema," Petrel added. "I'm fucking serious, Archer. No enema, no colonosocopy, no prostate exams, _nothing near your Mewdamned ass_. I'm already scarred enough." Archer laughed and shook his head once more.

"As sorry as I am to rain on your parade, Petrel, I'm not here for any examinations or treatments. This is a business call," he said. He reached inside of his coat and withdrew a small black envelope, a burning red seal stamped on the back. Petrel's eyes widened. "You know what this is, don't you, my friend?"

"Oh, Mew," the purple executive murmured. He reached out, hesitantly, and with an encouraging nod from Archer, took the envelope in his hands, holding it as though it were made of glass. "But... why _me_? Why _now_?"

"Well, it's quite simple," the interim boss answered, leaning back against the door frame. "It is a high-priority mission that we cannot allow to fail. While I've no doubt what's left of the espionage department would be capable of completing the task, I would prefer if a more _experienced_ hand took over, for now."

"But there _has_ to be someone better suited to this than _me_," Petrel laughed awkwardly. "I mean... my... my back, and my rap sheet-"

"I have every faith that your injuries are no longer expressly in the way of you returning to your intended duties," Archer said patiently. "And as for your history, well... how about this: if you think it will be a problem, leave, and never show your face to us again. Complete your mission, and I'll strike all past transgressions from your records." He paused to check his watch. "As much as I would love to continue to have this conversation with you, I have things to do. When you return, we'll go out for drinks, and you can tell us all about it- _all_ of us. Good day, gentlemen." With a polite nod, Archer left before Petrel was able to form any more protests, and the purple executive frowned before flopping down into his chair and turning the black envelope over in his hands. His name was printed on the bottom right corner in Archer's small, neat cursive, shining a bright red.

"So... what is it?" Proton asked after a long moment. "P?"

"...It's a hit," Petrel murmured. He held the envelope up for Proton to get a better look at it, and his green-haired counterpart wheeled over on his chair curiously. "It's a fucking _hit!_" All of a sudden, a grin stretched impossibly wide over his face, and he clutched the envelope to his chest and spun around in his chair giddily. "I get to do a hit! Holy shit, I'm _so fucking excited! _Mother of Mewtwo, my _first_ solo hit!"

"_That's_ how they give out assassination orders?" Proton snorted. "A little needlessly ceremonial, isn't it?" Petrel merely laughed and grabbed Helix, who had been snoozing on top of his computer tower, throwing the pink blob of goo into the air in celebration. The ditto landed on his head with a satisfying 'plop', and Proton began laughing, as well.

"Actually," Petrel managed once his laughter calmed down, and he had set his now thoroughly grumpy ditto back where he had been, "regularly, you just get a briefing from your superior and they send you out, but... Well, back when we were, y'know, more than fifty people, when you graduated from the assassin track, this was how they would give you your first solo mission. Mew, I wonder who the poor bastard is gonna be..."

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Proton motioned to the envelope and then leaned over to grab their letter-opener (it was actually more like a box cutter inside a fake HM01 case, but, whatever) and handed it to Petrel, who eagerly ripped the top open and emptied the contents into his waiting hand. Wasting no time, he unfolded the paper that had fallen out and glanced it over before, slowly, his grin faded into a frown. "What's wrong, P?"

"Uhm... _well_..." He scratched idly at his goatee before tossing his orders to the table, allowing Proton to read the name of his target.

_Alex Strauss_

Proton's mouthed formed a silent 'ohhhh', and he tapped his fingers against his cheek as he seemed to think it over. "You don't have to do this," he said at last, "not if you have a problem with it." Petrel rubbed a hand down his face tiredly before rubbing his temples, slouching back into his seat.

"I can't _not_," he replied. "You heard Archer. Either I do it or I don't come back." He watched as Proton seemed to struggle with something internally before averting his gaze to the floor.

"We... can not come back, _together_...," he murmured. "I... I mean, the Team's dead, anyways, right...? We have the house, we can just head straight to Hoenn and-" Petrel leaned in to shut him up with a kiss.

"No," the purple executive said softly, "it's alright. You want to stay, don't you? After everything, you want to see it out. I told you I would fight for whatever you fought for."

"It's not just about me," his lover protested, "it's about _us_, Petrel, and even though I'd like to kill that annoying sonuvabitch, myself, if you don't think you can do this, we can leave."

"I still owe him one for what he did to you, when he interrogated us. Consider it me going to defend my maiden's honor."

"_Dammit_, Petrel-!"

"Hey, you only said not to call you a princess, you said absolutely _nothing_ about 'maiden'."

"I'm not some fuckin' damsel in distress, you asshole, I can look after myself!"

"I know. But with me around, you don't have to."

"Yeah, well... you... you're a dick!" Petrel chuckled as Proton pouted and sunk in his seat. With a grunt, he stood and grabbed his orders, leaning down to press a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead as he made his way to the door.

"I'll be back tomorrow, if I can," he said, "but if I'm not, I promise, I won't take more than a couple days."

"Be safe," Proton called after him. "Don't do anything crazy, okay?"

"Of course not!" Petrel grinned. "That's your department!" He closed the door behind him just in time to avoid getting a ditto to the face.

* * *

"Is it time to go home, yet?" Alex's partner raised an eyebrow and peered over at him from his desk, smirking slightly as he rolled a pen around.

"What, you bored?" he teased. Alex rolled his eyes and huffed, leaning forward to rest his chin in front of his keyboard.

"Actually, very much so," he replied, "we've been working the same case for Lugia knows how long, and we haven't gotten anywhere in months. It's like they've disappeared off the face of the earth."

"You're _really_ invested in finding them," his partner said evenly. "I hear you used to be with 'em. That true?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"Honestly? You hate them so much, I can't see it. But were you, Al?" Alex shrugged one shoulder at him.

"Yeah, I was," he sighed. "I was a second generation Rocket. My parents had me while they lived on-base."

"Ohhh, so _that's_ why you never told anyone where it was." His partner frowned. "But that would only account for one of the bases, wouldn't it? What about the one in the Sevii Islands, or that one we raided near Ilex two years back?"

"I didn't know where those were. Otherwise, Jonas, I can _assure_ you I would have been leading the expedition for them. I was the one who gave them the Tiksi base, after all." Jonas' frown deepened for a split second before his teasing grin returned to his face.

"I bet it was a guy," he said, "I bet you knew where it was, but you liked someone who was there. Who was it, huh~?"

"Fuck off."

"Aww, c'mon, _tell me_!

"I said _fuck off_."

"Was it one of those Executives we arrested three years ago?"

"Wha- _no_!" Alex scowled as Jonas' grin broadened, and his friend laughed.

"Ah, it was, it was! So was it the tall one with the nutella, or the short, crazy one? Well, actually, you tried to kill the short one, didn't you?"

"That proves _nothing_!"

"So you like the tall, manly ones, huh? Well, that makes hooking you up a _hell_ of a lot easier." Jonas continued to laugh as Alex flushed angrily and threw a wad of paper at him. "Hey, don't be like that- c'mon, how about once our shift is over we go to a club, get wasted, and find someone for you to go home with? You need some lovin'."

"I don't want to go pick up guys at night clubs," Alex protested wearily, sitting back as he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I'm in a perfectly fine relationship, right now." Jonas' grin faltered.

"...Al," he said gently after a moment, "Al, you gotta stop deluding yourself, like this. You keep telling me you have a boyfriend, but no one's ever seen him, you don't have any pictures of him _anywhere_, and if last Friday was any indication, you've been spending_ all_ of your so-called 'date nights' going to a diner _alone_."

"It's not a delusion."

"Look, just face it, man, whoever the guy is, he's not coming back. It's safe to say the relationship is over."

"He'll come."

"But Alex-"

"Will you just drop it, Jonas?!" At Alex's angry glare, Jonas sighed and threw his hands up in defeat turning back to his paperwork without another word. They didn't talk much from that point, though once Jonas _did_ offer to drive him home, as his car was currently in for repairs, an offer Alex accepted quite gratefully. Their shift was over by five thirty, and wonderfully enough, it was still light out. Jonas carefully and cautiously poked light conversation out of him, from the health of their pokemon to gossip they'd heard around the water cooler earlier in the day, to how things were going with Ada for a flatmate.

Truth be told, Alex had been take quite by surprise when the woman had joined the IP, three years ago, though on another level, he sort of understood. She was just as invested in finding Team Rocket as he was. Her son had joined them, after all, and with the experience she'd had with him, it was understandable why she wanted him safely behind bars. He was a danger to everyone around him, _especially_ Lambda. In fact, Alex was _convinced_ the only reason Lambda still stayed with the green-haired _whore_ was because said green-haired whore was abusing him, and Lambda was experiencing some extreme Stockholm Syndrome.

Regardless, the ride home was pleasant, and Alex was just about to thank Jonas again for the ride and head up to his flat, when he paused, spying a specific car in the parking lot, and frowned. Jonas blinked at him and leaned forward to gaze around him. When he caught sight of the car, he looked confused as all hell.

"Is that Agent Looker's car?" he asked. Alex nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, "yeah, it is. Well, fuck, I don't wanna go up, now, they're probably hooking up in the shower, again."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _wait_, _hold on_. Ada and Looker are...?"

"Yeah... Well, fuck, now what am I supposed to do?" Jonas shrugged, and the two simply sat there for a few minutes, confused.

"...Wanna grab a bite to eat?" his partner finally suggested.

"Eh, what the hell. Sure."

* * *

"_Lambda? Where _are_ we?" Alex frowned slightly as he groped around in the darkness, the blindfold over his eyes allowing no light to reach his eyes. His only means of guidance was the cold, bare hand clenched in his warm, gloved one, and to be honest, with Lambda on crutches, he didn't exactly trust his boyfriend to not run him into any tables, or anything._

"_Well, as soon as I get this stupid door open, we'll be back in my old man's apartment... Hold on, sweetheart, I need my hand for a sec..." Yeah, one of his arms was in a cast, too, the poor guy. It had been terrible seeing him in such pain- the accident had only been a few weeks ago. Alex waited patiently as Lambda unlocked the door, leaving his hand empty for a few seconds, before he felt his lover's grip pulling him inside, where they stopped briefly to remove their boots (or in Lambda's case, boot, as in singular) before he was steered in the general direction of the den._

"_Lambda, dearest, I still don't understand-"_

"_You don't have to. Take your blindfold off." Alex did as instructed- the first thing he saw was his boyfriend, smiling anxiously despite his injuries, hunched over low; as always, the sight nearly broke his heart, but soon enough his attention was pulled away from his unfortunate lover to the coffee table, upon which two plates sat, stacked high with pancakes- the only thing Lambda could actually cook. He had to work hard to stifle a laugh, and Lambda scuffed at the carpet self-consciously with his casted leg. "I'm sorry we weren't able to go to the diner like we usually do, but... I thought, maybe I could do something special to make up for it...? But all I can make is pancakes, and... well... I'm sorry, Alex." Alex merely shook his head and hugged him- awkwardly, of course, they still weren't used to Lambda's new stature- and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips._

"_It's wonderful, Lambda. You're such a nice guy," he said, smiling. "Let's eat." Lambda smiled as well and took him by the hand again, hopping over to attempt kneeling in front of his plate, but Alex stopped him, much to his confusion. "Doctor said to keep you from putting too much stress on your body, right now. Lay down on the couch."_

"_Wha- then how am I gonna eat?" Lambda pouted._

"_I'll feed you," Alex said simply. He was quite amused at the slight blush that crawled across Lambda's face._

"_I- I'm not a child!" he protested. "I can feed myself!" Alex made a show of rolling his eyes, but really, it was adorable how stubborn Lambda could be, sometimes. He leaned in close to whisper into his ear._

"_Behave and maybe I'll do more than feed you, tonight." Lambda was unable to process the statement in its entirety, it seemed, for he merely let out a string of unintelligible stammers as his blush grew fiercer. Alex payed him no mind and forced him down, and Lambda soon quietly accepted his fate. Idly, he wondered if the blush would be permanent- it was freaking adorable. _

_Though on that note, the sex was even more awkward than the hug had been._

* * *

Petrel frowned from his seat at the bar as he watched Alex walk in to the club with his- friend? Boyfriend? Coworker? Random guy off the street? Well, whoever it was that was with him. He'd managed to get there literally minutes before them, with the help of Helix. Ditto were so useful. For whatever reason, though, Alex didn't look overwhelmingly thrilled to be there, despite the other guy's cheery disposition. He wondered what, exactly, they had gone there to do.

They didn't go out onto the dance floor, or anything. They just found themselves a table to sit at over in the corner and began people-watching, from the looks of it. Petrel found himself frowning as he watched them. They were probably looking for hook-ups, or something, and he couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous even though he knew he shouldn't. He had Proton, now, after all, why should he care about Alex's sex life? He seemed to have been staring at them a little too long, however, because soon he caught Alex's eye, and after a moment of staring, startled at having been caught, he turned back to his lite beer and hoped nothing would happen. He may have been in disguise, but that was no guarantee Alex wouldn't know it was him.

Luck didn't seem to be on his side, that evening, as several minutes later, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and he glanced up to find the guy who had come in with Alex smiling pleasantly at him. He quirked an eyebrow and took a sip of beer as they simply stared at each other for a while.

"...Can I help you?" he asked after a sufficient amount of silence.

"Do you like dudes?" Petrel stared at him, completely deadpanned, and when he didn't turn around and walk away awkwardly, sighed in exasperation.

"Who's asking?" he replied. The man paused and thought the question over for a second.

"I'm asking," he said, "but not for me, for my friend. Sorry, I'm into women, myself."

"Your friend with the shades?" Petrel jerked his thumb towards Alex's table, and the man nodded.

"Yeah. Sorry, would you mind coming over, at least to talk? He's had this delusion of being in a relationship for the past eight years, but whoever his last guy was, he's not coming back. He needs to socialize with some hot dudes, and you look like his type, so... please? I'll pay for the drinks."

"I probably shouldn't," Petrel said, smiling apologetically. "I'm not really looking for a relationship, right now-"

"You don't have to go home with him, or anything!" the man promised. "Just... just talk to him, y'know? Make him feel good about himself, help him realize he's wasting time waiting for this guy? Help me out, here, man, he spends his date nights eating alone in some run-down old diner." Petrel groaned mentally. Okay, now he was on a guilt trip. This was _so_ not fair.

"Alright," he said at least, "fine, I'll do it. But I'm not going home with him." Alex's friend fist-pumped and led him back over to their table, grinning broadly as Petrel sat. Alex eyed him wearily, and he made sure to leave his chair turned slightly out if he needed to make a quick getaway.

"Hey, Al, this is- uh- what's your name?"

"Sean."

"This is Sean. Why don't you kids talk while I go get some drinks?" Alex's friend winked and walked back towards the bar. Petrel cast him a fleeting glance as he went, but quickly turned his attention back to Alex.

"Sooo... Alex, huh?" he said after a moment. Alex ran a hand through his hair- one of his anxious ticks. Petrel had always thought it was adorable when he got his hair all ruffled up like that.

"Look, Sean, don't get me wrong, or anything, I'm sure you're a nice guy," the brunette sighed, "but I don't really want to be in a relationship. In fact, I'm already in a relationship, and my boyfriend-"

"It's fine," Petrel cut him off, brushing his concerns aside with a wave of his hand. "I understand. Actually, I'm in a relationship, myself. I only came over because your friend said you were having a rough time?" Alex snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Fucking Jonas," he muttered. "I guess I am. My boyfriend's been gone for a while. On a trip, I mean. A business trip. But... we'll be together again, one day. I know we will. So I'll wait. Once everything blows over, we'll be together again..."

"It sounds to me like this guy's some sort of jackass," the not-quite-purple-at-the-moment executive said as nonchalantly as he possibly could. "Jonas, that's your friend's name? Jonas said he's been gone eight years."

"It's not his fault!" Alex protested. "Lambda's really, _really_ sweet, he's just been having a rough time with his job. But it's all going to be over soon."

"Have you seen him since he left?"

"Well... yeah, once, but-"

"And was he with anyone else?" Alex deflated slightly.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "but... but that _whore's_been abusing him, I know it! Abusing him and manipulating him, and he's just gotten so used to it that he won't stand up for himself, anymore!" Petrel gritted his teeth slightly when he heard Alex's insult. It took all of his willpower just to keep himself from punching the auburn man- Proton was _not_ a whore.

"Maybe this Lambda is really just an asshole who got tired of you," he said. "Look, it's been eight years, and you saw him with someone else. If that's not a sign to give up, then what is?"

"I'm not going to give up." His ex's eyes steeled in determination. "I'm not giving up until Lambda and I are together again."

"Well, looks like I won't be able to get anything through that thick skull of yours," he muttered as he stood. He needed to leave before this got him too frustrated. "Just think about what I said, alright? I'll see you around."

Jonas tried to stop him as he passed by, but he brushed the man off and continued out the door. If Alex refused to admit their relationship was over, then so be it. However... He smirked slightly to himself as he let Helix out of his pokeball and had him transform into a golbat. Perhaps he could use the situation to his advantage. All he had to do was break into Alex's flat and wait.

* * *

"What happened?" was the first thing Jonas asked as he sat down. Alex gave him a half-hearted scowl before peering into the depths of his drink, swirling it around in his glass.

"Nothing you need to know about," he said testily, and Jonas raised his hands placatingly to avoid any argument that could likely follow.

"Alright, alright, I get the memo," he replied, "I'll stop trying to hook you up, geez... I just thought you might hit it off with that guy, he kinda looked like that Rocket you're pining over."

"I'm not pining over anybody!"

"Sorry, unhealthily obsessing over, then."

"You're an asshole."

"So I've been told. Are you still in the mood to dance a little, or are we calling it a night?"

"How tall do you think that guy was?"

"I dunno, six feet, maybe more. Why?"

"...Did he seem a little heavy-lidded to you?"

"I assumed he was drunk. Or possibly high."

"How about a Unovian accent?"

"A little bit of one, I think, very hard to detect. A little melodic with his vowels. I'm thinking a northern dialect. Why?" Alex stared long and hard at the doors to the outside world, wondering if maybe, just maybe, Lambda had been closer than he thought. He must have sounded pretty pathetic, talking the way he had. All of a sudden he was starting to feel embarrassed, and no longer in a mood to put up with Jonas' antics.

"No reason," he replied after a moment, "I just really like Unovians." Jonas rolled his eyes.

"Oh, _now_ you show some interest. Too late, idiot, the man's long gone. Anyways, you need to answer my question- stay and party, or go home?" Maybe... just maybe... Alex squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe, if that _had_ been Lambda, he'd come all the way just to see _him_... maybe he would be back at the flat, waiting for him. Maybe he had the spine to tell off that green-haired whore, after all.

"Take me home?" Jonas gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Of course, buddy. Don't worry about it. Things will go back to normal, soon."

Alex really did hope so.

* * *

"_Alex?" Lambda frowned as he opened the door to poke his head into his boyfriend's bedroom. His auburn-haired beauty hadn't been at lunch that afternoon, and he'd worried for him all day. The instant Lambda had been let out of his specialization mentoring, he'd hurried to Alex's apartment, greeted his parents as usual, and learned that the boyfriend in question was, in fact, very sick. He knew from experience that Alex was a little bit on the bitchy side when he was sick, refusing to take his medicine and whatnot. Hopefully, he would be able to convince him otherwise. "Alex, are you awake?"_

_The lump under the bundle of blue sheets wiggled for a moment before Alex's head popped up from beneath. He looked awful, with dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and a runny nose that caused him to constantly sniffle. The wastebasket next to his bed was filled with used tissues. Lambda couldn't help but feel absolutely awful as he saw his love in such a state, and without any regard for his own health, beelined to sit on the bed next to him and pull him into a tight, comforting hug._

"_Hey, Lambda," Alex said tiredly. "What brings you here?"_

"_You weren't at lunch, today," the purple-haired trainee answered. "I got worried. Your parents let me in. How're you feeling, gorgeous?"_

"_Probably about as good as I look." Alex grinned, but almost immediately turned to cough into his arm, and Lambda sighed, reaching out to stroke his hair lovingly. _

"_You need medicine and rest," he said, "you haven't been fighting your mom all day about it, have you?" As in on cue, Alex's mother entered the room, baring a bottle of water in one hand and a blue pill in the other._

"_He's been fighting it since last night, actually," she said, placing them on the bedside table. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Lugia knows I can't."_

"_That stuff kills you slowly," Alex protested. "You can't trust half the stuff the med department puts out, how many of the guys working there got sued for malpractice before they joined the organization?"_

"_Yeah, but bing sick will kill you faster. C'mon, open up." Lambda grabbed the pill and held it out for Alex to take, but the young man stubbornly refused to do so. Lambda frowned. "Fine. I'm afraid you leave me no choice." Without another word, he popped the pill into his own mouth (Alex's mother was quite confused) and then swooped down for a kiss, running his hand gently up Alex's side, under his shirt, until he found that spot that made him moan so nicely, before quickly taking the opportunity to shove the pill into Alex's mouth. He pulled away then and grabbed the water bottle, removing the cap and forcing it into Alex's mouth, as well, before he was able to spit the pill out. "See? That was easy, wasn't it? Now swallow it, sweetheart." Alex scowled, but swallowed the pill and the water obediently, nonetheless._

"_You're a dick," he accused as soon as he snatched the water bottle out of Lambda's hands._

"_You should have taken your medicine when your mother told you the first time," Lambda replied cheekily._

"_Very effective, Lambda," Alex's mother praised, smirking, "but I don't think I'd be able to do that without it being terribly awkward. Mind coming back around to help me, tomorrow?"_

"_Of course, Mrs. Strauss. I guess I'll let him get his rest." Alex pouted and crossed his arms._

"_What, you put me through that and then no snuggles?" he snorted. "Rude."_

"_You want me to stay?" Lambda gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes before turning a pleading glance to Mrs. Strauss, who simply laughed._

"_If you get sick, you're the one explaining it to your father, not me," she said. "I'll bring you kids some soup, later. Let me know if you two need anything." After thanking Mrs. Strauss profusely, Lambda kicked off his boots and removed his gloves and socks before sliding under the covers and allowing Alex to snuggle up against him. _

_"You're such a nice guy, Lambda," his auburn beauty murmured, yawning. "__I'm feeling sleepy all of a sudden."_  


"_Then go to sleep," he replied._

"_Promise you'll be here when I wake up?" Lambda smiled and pressed a kiss to Alex's forehead._

"_Always."_

* * *

Looker's car was gone when Jonas dropped him back off at his flat, and for that, Alex was thankful. Looker was a handful enough during the work day, he didn't need to be dealing with the man at home, as well. Though he supposed he should be happy for Ada. From what he understood, she'd come a long way in the past five years. The lights were off when he went inside- as it was now eight, and Ada had an early shift in the morning, she was probably in bed, and since she was his morning ride, Alex supposed he should go to sleep, as well.

As he stepped into his room, he couldn't help but feel that he would run into Lambda, and the man would give him one of his serene smiles and strong hugs and crack a joke about his so-called 'business trip', but upon turning the light on, he found no one in the room. Really, he wasn't sure why he'd been so convinced of it. Sean had been a total coincidence, anyways. It was tourist season, after all. With a sigh, Alex proceeded to change into his pajamas, and placed Slim's pokeball on his desk.

"Goodnight, Slim," he said softly. "I'll see you in the morning." The pokeball wiggled slightly- Slim's 'goodnight' in return- and Alex smiled as he went back over to turn the light off again. He made sure to leave his door slightly ajar, in case Ada needed him for anything, and turned around to go climb into his bed. He stopped dead in his tracks before he was able to take a single step.

The window next to his bed was wide open, and a shadowy figure perched on the edge, thin and tall, yet hunched. Alex's heart skipped a beat- he didn't need to see the figure's face to know who it was. He was here. Lambda was here. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, and Alex found himself wondering if, maybe, he was dreaming, until the familiar, deep voice rang out in the darkness.

"You've got a nice room."

"Thanks. I got that furniture we were looking at together, before Tiksi."

"Yeah. I saw." The figure slid off the bed and stood at his full height, posture almost as perfect as it had been before the accident. If it hadn't have healed up right by now, Alex mused, it probably never would. He was, at the very least, thankful that Lambda had managed this much. "You really think we're going to get back together, don't you?"

"Well, I mean... _yeah_." He smiled, though he knew Lambda probably couldn't see it. "That's... that's what you came here for, right? To see me? To get away from the organization? You... you could help a lot of people away from them, Lambda, people who need you."

"There are people who need me back at base."

"From what I understand, not many. If you're not here to run away with me, so to speak, then why _are_ you here?" Lambda paused, and then strode forward, closing the space between them until they were barely inches apart. He could make the Rocket's face out, now, thinner and paler than it had been since they'd last seen each other, and he wondered why, exactly, that was. Lambda had always taken such good care of himself, but now... It hurt to see him looking so unhealthy. Hesitantly, Alex reached out to cup Lambda's cheek in his palm, and though he didn't nuzzle into the touch like he used to when they were kids, he didn't pull away. He'd take what he could get, he supposed.

"Your friend told me you spend every Friday night at the diner, alone." Alex noticed the change in subject. He considered, briefly, calling Lambda out on it, but found he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

"...Yeah," he admitted, "yeah, I do. Same thing as I always get, the club with an orange crème milkshake. I guess you haven't been able to go?"

"I went recently, as well- the barbecue onion burger with a chocolate malt. I missed it, the atmosphere and all. Didn't miss the intersection three blocks down, so much, but, y'know." Alex offered him a weak smile, which was not returned.

"I never missed that intersection much, either." He hesitated another moment before he tilted his head back and pulled Lambda down for a kiss. Their lips met, melding against each other's, and soon enough he tilted again to deepen the kiss, searching desperately for the spark that was always there. Seconds passed, and when it still didn't come, he began to frown, and licked slightly at Lambda's lips, but before anything could come of it, the taller man pulled away, his eyes distant. Alex found himself shrinking slightly under his gaze. "...Lambda...?"

"...I'm sorry," his ex-lover murmured. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Alex, pulling him in close and stroking his hair so gently, just as when they were younger. Alex found himself melting into Lambda's touch, all worry stricken from his mind, and he latched onto him tightly. "I'm so sorry, Alex. For everything. But I'm here, now. Everything will be the way it should." A watery smile twitched at the corners of Alex's mouth, and he buried his face into Lambda's chest before the Unovian could catch him crying.

"I've missed you," he laughed.

"I know." He was so sorely tempted to steal another kiss, so excited at the prospect of everything working out so well, that he almost missed the quiet metallic click just behind him. What he didn't almost miss, however, was the cold metal barrel of a gun pressed to his head just behind his ear, and he froze, grabbing onto his ex's shoulders. "It will all be over, soon."

"...So this is why you came, after so long," he heard himself murmur. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Lambda's own dark gaze, and toyed lightly with the man's sideburns. Years' worth of regrets shone in those black eyes, and despite the darkness, he could see it plainly. In that moment, he understood his mistakes."Not for me. Not really. For him."

"I told you at the club," Lambda replied, "I'm just an asshole that's grown tired of you and your taurosshit, Alex. I should have turned you in when I had the chance. They would have beaten all the blasphemous nonsense out of you in reeducation."

"You loved me too much, then. You were as stubborn as a tauros."

"I'm sorry we weren't able to go to the diner like we usually do. I'm not sure if I'll be able to make up for it, this time." Despite it all, Alex found himself laughing, and he pulled away just enough to get a good, long look at Lambda's face.

"You're such a nice guy, Lambda. Promise you'll be there when I wake up?" Lambda, however, didn't laugh. He just continued with that distant, cold stare of his and leaned forward to place his mouth next to Alex's ear.

"I can't."

The last thing he heard was a loud, disorientating 'bang' before he fell to the floor, his vision fading in and out as Lambda stood over him in the darkness. He tried to focus, tried to keep the man in his vision, but before long, his eyelids began to grow heavy. It was alright. He would wait forever, if he had to.

* * *

Petrel simply stared as Alex's body fell to the floor, blood and brains splattering onto the carpet. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not spending more time looking for a silencer- someone was bound to have heard that. He'd have to leave quickly- but first, he needed a trophy to prove to Archer the mission was complete. He thought he would have some sort of moral qualm about mutilating his ex's corpse after he killed him- hell, he thought he would feel like a terrible person after he killed him. But truth be told, he _really_ didn't care about killing Alex. Certainly, it was nice to know that he'd gotten revenge for what had happened to Proton, but beyond that, the dead brunette on the floor before him really didn't mean much of anything, now. In fact, he would even go as far as to say he'd been doing the sonuvabitch a favor. It was a sad existence, to be so thoroughly indulged in one's own delusions. That's what he liked about Proton. He had his fair share of delusions, but for the most part, he was able to ignore them and live in the moment. It was a little thing, and Petrel was certain there were plenty of people who would disagree, but he always preferred the present to the past or the future, and having Proton around just helped cement that. Speaking of Proton, he really needed to get home... What to take, what to take...

He had been in the middle of debating between cutting of Alex's ear versus cutting off a finger when the sliver of light in the room grew wider and longer, and startled, he glanced over his shoulder to see the silhouette of a woman in the doorway. He swore and frantically turned his gun on her- there had been nothing in the mission briefing about a flatmate!

"You," came a vaguely familiar voice. "You're that man who was with my son." Wait, huh? Hesitantly, he lowered the barrel a little.

"...Mrs. Lance's Mom?" he replied. "You're living with my ex?"

"Your ex... Alex? You're Lambda?" She sounded just as confused as he was. "Then that 'green haired whore' he always blames everything on..."

"Yeah. That's Lance." Petrel paused and stepped slightly in front of Alex's corpse, hoping she wouldn't notice it. As it was, he'd have to dispose of the witness, he didn't want to have to chase her to do it. There was, however, something he was curious about... "Did you know? About his... problem?" Ada crossed her arms and bit her lip, remaining silent for a moment before answer.

"You mean his... Oedipus complex?" A nod. "Yes. I've had an idea for quite some time, now. Does he know, himself?"

"He figured it out three years ago, when he saw you again. I feel bad for him- he knows he shouldn't feel that way, and he hates himself for it. I think it's why he lashes out as often as he does, now. He doesn't exactly have much else to think about."

"Is... there anything we can do for him?"

"Actually... there is." He gave her a serene smile as she eyes him curiously- curiously, yet suspiciously. She knew not to trust him off the bat. That was good. He wondered where she learned that from. "See, I'm not just your son's lover, ma'am. I'm also his regular physician and his psychiatrist. And I think the _best_ thing I can do for him..." He raised the gun to point at her, once more. "...is to remove you from the picture, entirely."

Before she even had time to react, Petrel emptied what remained of his clip into her and watched, vaguely amused, as she fell to the ground, as well. That was two for two- Mew, Pro was gonna be so fucking proud of him when he got back. But that still left him with the question of what he was going to bring back to prove to Archer that he completed his mission. Frowning, he turned back to Alex. Ear or finger, ear or finger... Ear would definitely be easier, but a finger would be _so_ badass... Wait a second... Badass... That was it! With another serene smile, Petrel glanced between the two corpses. Oh, he just had the _best_ idea. This was going to be awesome.

* * *

Proton was mellow. Not happy, not pissed, not anything, just mellow. Well, alright, maybe he was a little frustrated, but that was because Archer wouldn't leave the Lugiadamn room. Clad in only one of Petrel's old t-shirts and his boxers, Proton scowled at the TV as he cuddled with Twitch, lying under the covers of his and Petrel's futon. He really, really, _really_ wanted the purple-haired executive to return, that night. Even with Twitch, he was kinda lonely, the bitter scent of Petrel clinging to the t-shirt the only reminder of the man's promise to return.

"You're awfully quiet, for once," Archer said dryly as he flicked through the channels. "Are you alright?"

"The fuck do you care?" Proton muttered in reply. "You hate me." The interim boss chuckled and kicked back along the length of the couch like a normal person- too normal, Proton thought. Very un-Archer-like.

"Once upon a time," he admitted, "but the more I have to put up with you, the fonder of you I seem to grow. I believe that's Stockholm Syndrome, correct?" Proton snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Stop tryin' to be smart, idiot," he said, "it's the Mere Exposure Effect, get it right before the next time you open your Lugiadamn mouth."

"I asked for a confirmation, _not_ your sass." Proton's scowl deepened as a popcorn kernel hit his brow, and he sat up to glare at Archer, who looked endlessly amused as he munched on his bowl of popcorn- Proton wasn't even sure when he'd gotten it. "Oooh, so _scary_. What are you going to do, Executive, bite me? I do hope Petrel's given you your rabies shots."

"Fuck, are you high or somethin'? You're never this chill." Archer laughed at that and threw another popcorn kernel; this time, Proton saw it coming, and he backed up slightly and allowed the delicious missile of corny goodness to meet its demise in his mouth.

"I don't know why, but I've been rather happy, today," the bluenette replied. "Which is strange in and of itself, because Ariana's still out and I usually worry about her more than I probably need to."

"We're not having some shitty heart-to-heart thing, are we?"

"We can if you want to, though I know you normally reserve those for Petrel. I assumed since he's probably not going to be here, tonight, you could use some company."

"And what brought you to this _wondrous_ conclusion?"

"Well, the same reason I decided to stop hating you, I suppose."

"Mere Exposure Effect can't actually apply in this situation, I hope you know."

"Oh, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did ya mean?" Archer grabbed another handful of popcorn and spoke around it as he munched.

"You see, for quite awhile, I had a bit of a difficult time keeping Petrel on his leash," he said, "it was difficult to keep an eye on him all the time, and so even when his loyalty started to sway, I couldn't do much about it, nor did I have the means to entice him into remaining an unquestioning agent. But I realized something, all those years ago, when I tried to have him kill you." Oh, yeah, Proton remembered that. That had been the first time Petrel had kissed him. Fuck, it seemed so long ago, it was hard to believe it had only been three years. He waited patiently as Archer swallowed before continuing. "You see, even before you realized it, Petrel was completely smitten with you- _so many_ days he went to Ariana _whining_ and _complaining_ about how he didn't know how to break it to you. Back then, all I thought was that if he screwed up, it would be twice as effective to punish _you_ for it using him than to punish him directly. But the problem was, he cared more about you than himself, and so he would defy my orders. And that was when I realized- whoever had you, had him. As long as I keep on your good side, and keep you here, Petrel will remain, as well, and if I can give my orders to him in a way you find agreeable, yourself, well, he couldn't possibly be able to say 'no'. So, you see, it's really in everyone's best interest that I at least _attempt_ to get along with you."

Proton stared at Archer- who was smiling brightly the entire time he told his little story, one might add- before he shook his head in disbelief, propping himself back against the front of the couch.

"You're a total dick," he accused half-heartedly. "Smart, with effective logic, but a dick. I'm not sure whether to commend you for figuring this out or to get up and beat your Lugiadamn face in."

"I'd wager you're too lazy for the second one."

"You must win every time you go to the pokemon races."

"If only. We'd have more money than we do now."

"Gimme some cash and I'll bleed the Game Corner dry."

"You'd get kicked out the second you stepped foot inside." Proton rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance. He was just about to attempt to find something to throw at Archer- possibly his pillow if there was nothing else- when the door to the small apartment opened, and the short Rockets looked over to see who was coming in. The instant Proton saw the flash of black cloth he leaped to his feet (possibly waking Twitch, but he wasn't paying much attention), and scrambled over, coming to a stop just by the kitchenette as Petrel closed the door behind him.

"I'm back!" the purple-haired executive declared, grinning broadly. "Mission was a complete success!"

"Welcome back!" Proton replied, grabbing Petrel by the shoulders as he balanced himself on his toes long enough to kiss him. "That went over fast, P. No complications?"

"He's like a puppy, isn't he?" Archer mused in the background. Petrel shot him an amused look before focusing his attention on Proton.

"None whatsoever, sweetheart," he replied. "In fact, I brought back something I think you'll like..." Proton cocked his head quizzically and took a step back, watching as Petrel pulled his hand, glove stained with blood, out from behind his back, clenching something dripping the stuff onto the floor. He had to stare for a moment before he recognized what it was that his lover was presenting him with, and even longer to figure out who's they were. His only reaction to seeing the severed heads of both his greatest rival and the woman whose mere memory triggered feelings that made him want to stab something was to stare on, eyes wide and mouth agape. After a few more seconds of silence, Petrel shifted awkwardly on his feet, his smile becoming more anxious. "Well? I mean, do you... are you happy?"

He tried to speak, truly, he did- he didn't want to leave Petrel hanging like that. But try as he might, nothing he could think of would come out, and he slowly began to become frustrated with himself. Soon enough, he became fed up with his own wordless shock and grabbed Petrel by the uniform, bringing him down for another kiss, wild and searing, with a single mighty tug. He seemed to catch his boyfriend by surprise, for he stumbled slightly as Proton pulled him over, but soon enough he let the heads drop to the floor and instead grabbed Proton, himself, caressing his cheek as he pulled their bodies close together.

"Right now," Proton growled against his mouth when they pulled away to breathe, "_right fucking now, Petrel._"

"Right now," Petrel agreed, nodding slightly. He made to back Proton towards their futon, but the shorter executive dug his fingers into his forearm painfully, causing him to stop in his tracks. "I thought you said-?"

"_Right. Now. No waiting. _And keep your fucking gloves and boots on." Petrel stared at him for another moment, presumably attempting to figure out whether he was serious or not- of course he was, Proton was _always _serious when it came to these sorts of things.

"Holy _shit_," he finally said, "that's _hot_. I am strangely okay with this." And then there were no more words, only passion and lust and the wall that was the only thing keeping them from toppling over onto the floor, and _fuck_, he loved Petrel _so fucking much_ and-

"What- I just- you- what- _NO._" Archer, who had been staring wide-eyed with shock as the entire scene had played out, finally seemed to have found his voice and strode over angrily, pulling Petrel off of Proton and gesturing broadly to the mess on the floor. "This is _not_ a thing that is okay! Dammit, Petrel! What the hell were you even _thinking_?!"

"Look, I finished the mission and I brought you Strauss' head, I don't see what the problem is!" Petrel protested, frowning. "Now do you mind? In case you weren't paying attention, Pro and I were having a _moment_."

"_No,_" Archer snapped. "Clean this shit up, _now_. I can't fucking believe you, jeez... You had _one_ target! _One_! And not only do you bring back the entire Lugiadamn head- _completely unnecessary_, I might add- but you went out of your way to kill someone _completely_ unrelated to your mission!"

"Get the stick out of your ass, man!" Petrel replied. "Besides, it wasn't out of the way, she was literally living with the guy!"

"_Whoa_, hold on," Proton cut in, "_what_? They were _living_ together?"

"Flatmates, separate rooms," Petrel said, shrugging. "Though, she had a picture of that Looker guy in her room..."

"Does any of that _matter_?!" Archer cried. "Just get that fucking mess cleaned up before I decide to make you sleep outside, tonight!" With a cry of frustration, the bluenette stormed off to the room he shared with Ariana and slammed the door behind him. Proton and Petrel watched him go, the first scowling, pissed that their moment was interrupted, and the second exceedingly put-out as he now had to make an early trash run for the week. They stood there in silence for a few minutes, then, staring at the heads on the floor, before finally, they met each other's gazes.

"I think it can wait," Proton said. Petrel grinned at him.

"As long as Archer doesn't come back out for a while," he agreed. "get ready for the night of your life, sweetheart." Proton snickered and leaned back against the wall, narrowing his eyes seductively.

"Do your worst." He smirked and relaxed as Petrel pinned him once more, caressing him and gently scraping his teeth along his earlobe.

"Don't worry," he whispered huskily, "I intend to."

* * *

**Chapter 34, huzzah! Fun fact for this chapter: that entire conversation about Archer's medical paranoia and whatnot was supposed to be last chapter, I just forgot to add it in.**

**Not gonna lie, Proton's into some weird shit. I kinda feel bad for Archer. XD**

**Also not gonna lie, Alex was supposed to be way more of an asshole in this chapter, but then he just sorta... wasn't. I kinda feel bad for him, too. Oh, well. Shit happens, I guess.**


	35. Cipher's Cameo

Disclaimer: Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's a disclaimer, so please don't sue me.

Warm- warm and cozy. The futon was ridiculously so, more than it ever seemed to have been, before, and Proton could honestly say he wanted nothing more than to drift back to sleep, as comfortable as he was. He couldn't help but wonder _why_, of course, the futon was so unusually comfortable, that morning. He and Petrel hadn't done anything very different before bed. Groggily, he wondered if he was simply dreaming, and was really back in the Slowpoke Well sleeping on the ground in his sleeping bag. It would explain a lot, truthfully. Looking back on it, the entire previous night had been odd, what with Archer being relatively _nice_ to him and Petrel seducing him by means of gore, both incidents being obscenely out of character for the both of them. And then he had to wonder where Ariana had gotten herself to, because he'd been certain she was supposed to be back, by now.

After a few minutes of his musings, he simply sighed and told himself he was being ridiculous and, dream or not, he needed to take advantage of the situation before it was over. Taking great care not to wake Petrel, he shifted, first onto his back, and then onto his other side to face him, twitching slightly as the man's goatee tickled his cheek in the process. He always looked so relaxed when he was asleep- truly relaxed, not the casual indifference he passed off as serenity. Proton would never admit to anyone _ever_ (except maybe Twitch, but Twitch was exceedingly good at keeping secrets), but he rather enjoyed watching Petrel sleep. Sometimes, he would wait until he could catch his lover in REM sleep, and then try and guess what he was dreaming about. Most of the time he never knew if he was right or not, but that was alright. It was amusing enough, anyways. Of course, right now was not a time to wait for REM- the possibility of Petrel hitting it so far into the morning was a laughable notion. So instead, after spending a few minutes watching the man's chest rise and fall in time with his light breathing, Proton edged in and stole a small kiss. It seemed to be as good of a wakeup call as any, because soon enough, Petrel was kissing him back. Groggily, of course, through bleary, mostly-closed eyes, but sweetly, and when he pulled away just enough to gaze into his eyes, the taller executive smiled.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispered, before stretching with a mighty yawn. "I didn't think you'd be up this early, considering everything we did, last night."

"What, you think I'd be promoted to Executive if I couldn't handle a little exercise?" Proton snickered. "I barely worked up a sweat." Petrel's smile broadened into a grin, and he rolled over to pin Proton beneath him.

"Well, then, maybe I should see just how far I can push you before you collapse," he purred.

"Maybe I should see just how far I can shove my foot up your ass before you get over yourself." His boyfriend laughed at that.

"I thought it would be too early for your sass, but I guess not."

"Good guess." Petrel quirked an eyebrow in amusement at Proton's impish expression and was probably about to voice his suspicions when the green-haired executive flipped their positions and mercilessly began attacking his lover's sides.

"Wait, no- Pro- _Pro I'm ticklish, stop!_" Proton's grin broadened as Petrel shove half-heartedly at him, squirming and laughing. "_Pro, please!_"

"Sorry!" Proton replied smugly as he proceeded to simply tickle Petrel harder, "can't hear you!"

"_You- you fucking- ahahaha- you sadist!_" Petrel's squirming increased, and he almost managed to throw Proton off, but the green executive merely lowered his center of gravity and tickled on. "_Arch- Archer- help!_" Never once ceasing in his shenanigans, Proton looked to the side to find Archer watching them, thoroughly amused and sipping away at a cup of tea.

"It's not every day I get to see Proton's work in action," he said evenly, "if I tell him to stop, I won't be able to observe."

"Y'hear that~? My work is appreciated~!"

"_Ahahahahahaha! Archer! Archer, please!_" Archer let out a melodramatic sigh and shook his head, capturing Proton's attention with a simple flick of the wrist.

"Let him go, Proton, you've tortured him enough, for the day," he said before taking a sip of his tea. "How soon can you be ready?"

"Ready for what?" Proton asked as he rolled off of Petrel, who instantly threw his hands up into the air and uttered a mocking cry of 'hail Archer'. "There somethin' you need me to do?" Archer nodded.

"Yes. We're close enough to takeover that we will be requiring a security check on the town. You shall be stationed in Goldenrod until I send for you." That wiped the smile off of the junior executives' faces easily enough.

"What, already?" Petrel protested, "he _just_ got back!"

"Yes, I know," Archer acknowledged, "and I was planning on sending him out after one night, but I allowed the two of you as much time as I possibly could have. We need to be making progress, and as annoying as the two of you can be when I keep you separated, in the end, it shall all be worth it."

"I don't see you separating yourself from Ariana," the purple executive muttered. Their interim boss rolled his eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better, I am also leaving until the takeover," he said. "I will be attending to business in Olivine and Ecruteak, alone. Ariana will be managing the base in my stead. You, Petrel, continue with your medical duties, and brush up on your disguises- Crow used to sing all sorts of high praise about your impersonation abilities. Show me it was more than mere word- you will become the Tower Director for the duration of our stay in Goldenrod. I expect nothing more than your best." He paused then, studying the two of them intently before he turned towards the door to the hall. "Thirty minutes. Meet me by the exit." They watched him go, remaining where he left them for a few minutes as they soaked in the news. Then, without a word, Proton got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom, where he turned the shower on and proceeded to brush his teeth while he waited for the water to heat up.

"I guess it was too much to hope he would let you stay more than a few days," came Petrel's voice once he'd actually stepped into the shower. He paused in washing his hair for a brief moment before continuing on.

"Yeah," he agreed, "it was nice though. Should keep us going for a while."

"We can still run away."

"After all the fuss you made about staying, yesterday? Fuck that, we're seeing this through."

"In that case, mind if I hop in with you?"

"As long as you don't mind getting me in trouble with the boss-man." He could just imagine Petrel's pout at that, and he laughed. "It won't be for very long, P, you know that. If we're already doing a security check, it's gonna be a few more weeks at the most. You can handle a few weeks, can't you?"

"That's like asking me to get wasted whilst trying to break the world record for longest one-armed hand-stand. It's doable, but difficult."

"Or asking you to remember to actually make it home in time for dinner, for once."

"Hey, that's not my fault, I have _work_ to do."

"_What_ work? Getting high and making Drazen go out to get you food?"

"...It's harder than it looks?" Again, Proton laughed, and he turned the water off and grabbed a towel to dry himself before heading towards Archer and Ariana's room to find a fresh uniform, Petrel following along as though he were growlithe. "...You'll be safe, won't you?" He rolled his eyes as he zipped up his uniform and fastened his belt.

"Of course I will," he replied, "I'm _security_, P, it's my _job_ to be safe. Unless, of course, I'm doing an interrogation, then I get to go wild."

"I mean," Petrel continued as though he hadn't heard him, "I've just heard through the grapevine that there's been a few Cipher sightings in Goldenrod, recently, you never know what their deal is."

"You're right." It didn't matter how awesome his gloves made his uniform look, they were a pain in the ass to put on. Proton scowled as he fiddled with his sleeves, trying to get the damn things on properly. "They could take me off-guard and kill me. In that case, you should just go ahead and tell me your real name- and no 'well they used to call me Lambda' bullshit, I _know_ that was just a codename." Yeah, no, it wasn't fair at all- as he glanced over his shoulder, he found Petrel already completely decked out in his uniform, gloves and all. Why did _Petrel_ get the easy-to-wear gloves, dammit?

"I'll tell you what," his boyfriend said evenly, "I'll do you one better than that. Don't get caught and killed, and _then_ I'll tell you. See, now it gives you the incentive to survive!"

"That is _not_ fair," Proton scoffed as he went to get his hat. "You know _my_ name. Why don't I get to know yours?"

"Hey, I don't know your last name, we're even. Besides, did you ever think that maybe I don't even like my name?"

"I don't like mine, either, but I still let you call me by it."

"Stop guilt-tripping me, you have five minutes to get downstairs before Archer gets pissed." With a good-natured roll of his eyes, Proton grabbed his wallet and stashed his switchblade in his back pocket, where it belonged, before heading over to pull on his boots.

"What, you not even gonna walk me down?" he sniffed. "And here I thought you were a gentleman."

"What the hell sort of gentleman tries to seduce his partner by bringing home disembodied heads?"

"The kind I'd seriously consider marrying if it was legal."

"I guess I'll have to keep that in mind, then."

They laughed and bantered as they usually did on their way up to the exit, but it wasn't nearly as spirited as usual. Proton kept trying to tell himself it was only for a few weeks, but that did nothing to ease the haze of impending depression hanging over his head. He really _had_ only been back a short time, and now... Now, he was leaving again, and most likely would be going back to sleeping out in the wilderness, cold, alone, and thoroughly uncomfortable. Knowing Archer, he probably wouldn't even be allowed to rent a room at some cheap motel.

He noticed, of course, how the closer they got to the exit, the slower their strides became. They came to a stop early, right at the far end of the entrance hall, and though he kept his eyes pinned to both Archer and the exit, he didn't miss Petrel taking his hand as nonchalantly as he could, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"It's just a few weeks," the purple executive murmured meekly. "And then we'll do the takeover, and Boss will come back, and everything will go back to the way it was. Right?"

"Right," he heard himself reply. "Yeah. Right. I'll see you?" He turned in time to catch Petrel's sad smile.

"Yeah. Stay safe, sweetheart."

A hug and goodbye-kiss later, and Proton found himself following Archer out of the Mahogany base and towards Route 42. For the most part, Archer was quiet during the time they hiked together, only occasionally asking if Proton needed to take a break for whatever reason (each time he asked pissed the green executive off a little more- did he _look like_ he couldn't handle a walk?) or rambling on about how well that stupid project of his they were testing at the Lake of Rage was doing. Proton supposed he should have been happy about the Frequency Project, as he had a hand in its design, but really, he could care less. He preferred evolving his pokemon the old-fashioned way: through rigorous training. And speaking of training, he should probably take some time to train Twitch.

By the time they'd reached Ecruteak, Proton had to say he was honestly tired of Archer's presence, and he could _not_ wait to get rid of him. Archer, to his credit, seemed rather passive about the whole situation in general, and even offered him a small, tranquil smile as they bid each other goodbye near the exit to Route 37. Without some white-jacket slowing him down, Proton was able to work towards Goldenrod at his own pace, with Twitch riding comfortably on his shoulder. They took a quick stop in the National Park to train against the grass and bug types, there, and when they left, the little bat riding on his shoulder was in no way little, and was doing less of riding on his shoulder than zipping around through the air high above him. It was satisfying to have a golbat, but there was something bittersweet about his bat losing its adorableness for power. Maybe one day he'd get Twitch to evolve into a crobat. Then he'd start hitching shoulder-rides, again.

The city wasn't much different from the way he remembered, with buildings towering high, brightly lit shop windows and cafes on every corner. The cops were inattentive as always, the IP nowhere to be found, and he was having a ball just walking casually down the street in his uniform. People cast him scared looks, of course, it's not like he wasn't noticed at all, but no one seemed to have the balls to get within five feet of him, and so he made his progress unhindered.

The first thing he needed to do was find a place to hide out while he was in town. His first thought had been the PokeCenter, but he had to cross that off his list instantly, as Nurse Joys had this terrible habit of actually going to the trouble of calling an Officer Jenny on him. His second thought had been to try and find someone he knew, even vaguely, and requesting he crash at their place. He was actually about to go with that one when he remembered he didn't really know anyone in the city who would be willing to put him up for even _one_ night, left alone a few weeks. His last option seemed to be to find a place the owners were out of for a while and break in to use it for himself, but he had absolutely no idea where to even start looking.

"I don't suppose you have any zubat friends who have trainers that would put us up, do you?" Proton sighed as Twitch swooped down to perch on his shoulders. "Sheesh, you're heavy, now." The golbat clicked at him and beat his wings; Proton swore and quickly grabbed onto his hat so it didn't get blown away. "Hey, buddy, I know you're not used to being so big, but you can't go blowing my hat away, alright? There are people around here who'd recognize me from when I was little by my hair alone." He was about to go back to pondering over his sleeping situation when it hit him. _He lived here when he was a kid_. He still had his key to the RV- he could just go back to the old lot he used to live on with his mother and hang out in there. Sure, it was on the outskirts of town, and sure, he'd be back to living without utilities, but it wasn't like he couldn't handle the walk or not having a shower. (Alright, the thought of not having a shower was terrifying in and of itself, but he was an Executive, dammit.)

"Hey, Twitch," he said as he turned south and began walking, "how would you like to see where I grew up?" Twitch clicked happily in reply, and Proton smiled. It would be just like old times.

The walk was longer than he'd remembered it. It seemed like the city stretched on forever. Lugia, just how far _had_ his old home been? He was starting to regret having avoided it for so many years, he could barely remember how to get there. It was when he'd started passing shops he'd never remembered seeing before when he stopped and frowned and sent Twitch up to look for the lot, describing it to the best of his ability. The golbat obediently took the air and swooped around for a while, searching, before landing back down on Proton's shoulders and shaking his head- or rather, whole body, now. Proton frowned.

"No?" He turned his gaze to stare, hard, at the ground as he pondered over that. It's not like Twitch had ever really _seen_ where he'd lived as a kid- and he didn't really know how good a golbat's eyesight was, anyways. Maybe Twitch just wasn't able to see that far? But he didn't want to wander aimlessly- that would take too much time. So, with an almost dejected sigh, Proton turned around and headed back towards the shops he remembered from his childhood. It was entirely possible one of the shop owners would be able to tell him how to get there- it had seemed like most people in this part of the city had known where their RV was, if only so they could actively avoid it.

Of course, there was a single problem with his brilliant plan- that being, the instant he stepped foot into the barber shop he'd remembered from his childhood and the owner and patrons got a single look at his uniform, all activity ceased. The owner was practically trembling as he stood by the register, and no one said a word when Proton strode straight up and stopped in front of him.

"I don't want any trouble," the man said, "take whatever you want." Proton smirked at his wavering voice; the man flinched.

"What a coincidence," he replied, "I don't want any trouble, either, so let's make ourselves a deal: you don't call the cops, I don't sick my golbat on you. How does that sound?" The owner glanced slowly between Twitch and the phone, and then back to Twitch, before slowly, he nodded.

"Agreeable," he said. "What brings you to my shop?"

"Information." Proton motioned vaguely towards the outside. "A few years ago, a woman lived on the outskirts of this town in a run-down RV in the middle of what was pretty much a junkyard." The man's brow furrowed and he took a moment to think on that.

"The crack whore?" he asked after a moment. Proton had to force himself to calm, doing his mental counting- his mother was _not_ a crack whore. Addict, yes. Whore, no. He was tempted to get his knife out and slit the guy's throat, but of course, that would be counterproductive.

"Yes," he growled. "_Her_. I need to find that lot. Tell me how to get there."

"I can't," the owner replied, shrugging. "It's gone." Proton frowned.

"Gone?" he repeated. "What do you mean, gone?"

"A few years back, that Di Mercurio woman sold the lot and moved to Kanto," the man explained. "The city bought the lot and the surrounding land and expanded into it. Have you seen the new Trainer Square, with the lapras fountain?" Proton nodded- he'd stood by that fountain when he sent Twitch to scout the air. "That was the lot you're looking for. But if it's the Di Mercurio woman you need-" He held up a hand, effectively silencing the man, and without another word, he left, heading back down the street towards the Trainer Square.

He couldn't believe it. His home was gone. _Gone_. It was a nice enough park- as he glanced around the square, he couldn't see a single piece of junk or stray rattata. It was safe, clean, had running water- it was everything he'd always wished it would be when he was a child. But it still wasn't _his_ home. The old tire from his tire swing, the broken, rusting lawnmower that he'd once stripped for parts for a science fair project, the overgrown grass and scraps he'd once had grand plans for- nothing remained. Not a single trace. Instead, the grass was short and mowed neatly, the fountain in the middle of a pokeball-shaped cobblestone path, the lush, green trees inhabited by pidgey and the brushed metal benches took their places, neat and orderly. It wasn't his home. With a sigh, he beelined for one of the unoccupied benches, ignoring the fearful stares and angry glares he received from civilians as he plopped down.

"Well," he said after a long moment in which he merely watched the water running in the fountain, "I guess we're staying here, tonight, Twitch." Twitch clicked and chirped at him, and he sighed, laying down and curling up, his non-expressive stared turning into his increasingly frequent scowl. This sucked.

"...Proton?" The green executive's scowl deepened. Who the hell would be out in Goldenrod? Archer hadn't said anything about having any fucking grunts to deal with. With another, heavier sigh, he sat up and adjusted his hat before peering up at the origin of the voice; the instant he saw who it was, he froze in his seat.

"Decarli!" he exclaimed. Decarli blinked down at him curiously, shifting his grocery-filled, environmentally-friendly bags in his arms. He looked a bit older than Proton remembered, with some gray finally starting to invade his receding hair. He was even dressed like a normal person- there was no Rocket insignia anywhere on him. His mawile, Shoyu, stood next to him, holding a slightly smaller grocery bag of her own. "Decarli, what are you doing here?"

"I could say the same thing to you," the ex-Rocket replied evenly. "And out in public, too. Aren't you worried about the cops?"

"Nah," he snorted, "they're too busy doing Lugia knows what on the other side of town, and civvies are too scared to blow the whistle on me." Decarli snorted as well and shook his head.

"Damn cops, never doing their job right," he said. "What brings you to Goldenrod, Chief?"

"Nothing illegal, just doing a scout of the city for some operations. Been trying to find a base of operations all day, I'm here alone." Decarli frowned thoughtfully and glanced down to Shoyu, who nodded enthusiastically at him.

"You want me to put you up while you're here?" he asked. Proton grinned.

"Hey, if you did, I'd really appreciate it, man," he said. "It could be a blast, too, just like old times!"

"Just to be clear, I'm letting you sleep on the couch, I'm _not_ doing anything illegal. C'mon, hurry up and follow me. I'm sure Sheryl will be excited to see you- and while you're at it, make youself useful and carry this." Proton grinned and high-fived Twitch as Decarli passed him one of his grocery bags, and he and Shoyu turned and continued on through the square (successfully high-fiving a pokemon that lacked the necessary appendages for it was, in and of itself, a reason to high-five the bat again) and down the street.

"So what do you even do now?" Proton asked as they passed a shop with a rather nice hat on display in the window. Decarli cast him a glance over his shoulder.

"I'm a night guard at the Department Store," he replied. "It's nice, because I can watch over Virgil during the day, when Sheryl's at work. She's a school teacher now- fourth grade."

"A night guard, huh...?" Proton's grin broadened; he could just picture Decarli rolling his eyes.

"I am _not _giving you my security card." Proton pouted. He was soon led into a rather tall building- way taller than the old base had been- and into a rather nice elevator playing some smooth jazz. Decarli hit the button for the top floor. "Heard about the Slowpoke Well. I'm surprised you got Archer to go for it; it's a shame it got the whistle, though."

"We kinda ran out of other options- Petrel wanted to start selling meth, but Archer didn't want him accidentally blowing up the base. You know how he gets." Decarli laughed as the elevator doors opened, and he proceeded to lead Proton down the hall and into his apartment. It was nice- bigger than the quarters he shared with the other Executives, and open, with a single hallway leading off from the den to the bathroom and bedrooms. Everything in the apartment seemed to be child-proofed as well, and Proton gazed around in amusement at some of the toys left around. Decarli had him put away the groceries as he went off down the hallway, presumably to check on Virgil, and Twitch went to perch himself on the back of the couch, settling down comfortably. When Proton was finished with the groceries, he joined him, shifting on the decidedly comfy couch and taking his time to look around. Eventually, Decarli came back, carrying his son on his hip.

"Say hello to Mr. Proton, Virgil." The boy looked much like his father, and Proton couldn't help but smile, as strained as it was- three was a little young for him to deal with in _any_ situation, adorable or not. He had barely been able to cope with _Silver_ until the kid had been almost twelve. Virgil, however, merely smiled his three-year-old smile, and greeted him as his father had instructed.

"Hey, kid," Proton replied, "you've gotten big. Last time I saw ya, you were still wearin' onsies. Keep eatin' your veggies, yeah?" Decarli laughed a little and set Virgil down so he could go play with his toys, then sat down next to Proton.

"And you say you're bad with kids," he said. "Is Petrel still trying to convince you to adopt?"

"He's laid off of it, recently, but it's only a matter of time before he's trying again," the green executive admitted. "Once this whole take-over thing is over, I wouldn't be surprised if he did."

"Take over? Is that the operation you were talking about?" His ex-lieutenant stroked his chin thoughtfully. "So you're all really doing it, then? I'm surprised. You lost so many good agents..."

"Yeah, no thanks to you. I was just happy Seliber was so far along in his training; he had to take over for you."

"Why isn't he here, as well?" Proton snorted, rolling his eyes.

"_Seliber_? On a mission like _this_?" He shook his head and settled back into the couch, getting himself comfortable. "Yeah, right. He'd get me caught faster than you could plead innocent. As much as it sucks, I'm on this alone." Decarli sighed heavily and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

"I've always regretted leaving," he said quietly. "It may not have been the most stable life, but it a nice one. Close-knit. Satisfying work. I protected people, not... _things_."

"If you're gonna get sappy and nostalgic on me, Leo, we need to get drunk, first." Decarli didn't reply. He merely glanced up, lowering his hands just enough to watch Virgil play for a while.

"Sheryl thinks it's safer for him, here," he murmured, "better opportunity and whatnot."

"You disagree?"

"I would never have to worry about him running around in the base. I was your _lieutenant_. People would have known, they screw with my kid, they screw with the entire damn department. Now it seems all I ever do is worry about him. Goldenrod's a dangerous place, on the inside."

"So come back."

"Sheryl would never agree to it."

"Yeah, well screw that. Look, Decarli, you come back, you can get the Team's protection- that's worth way fuckin' more than GPD, ain't it? I'm not even askin' you to be on the front lines; you help me with this mission, I mention it in my report, boom- you're back in."

"I don't know, Proton." He shook his head. "I just don't know, anymore." Once more, Proton rolled his eyes.

"Alright, I didn't wanna pull this one on you, but you leave me no choice," he said. "Once a Rocket, _always_ a Rocket. Raid on the City." Decarli stared at him for a second, first in confusion, then in shocked frustration.

"You son of a bitch!" he accused. Proton merely quirked an eyebrow.

"Raid on the City," he repeated. Decarli huffed.

"Knock out Evil Tusks."

* * *

Later that evening, Sheryl had been absolutely surprised to find Proton hanging around their apartment, keeping Virgil and the pokemon entertained while Decarli was cooking dinner. She'd seemed suspicious, and Decarli had come quite close to spilling their plans to her, but Proton had quickly cut in and assured her he'd only come to visit and go drinking with his old friend that he hadn't seen in forever and really really missed and was it okay if they went out? After enough playing up his innocence, she seemed alright with the whole ordeal, even when Decarli informed her that he was staying over a few nights. When she and Virgil had finally gone to bed, Proton and Decarli had gone out looking for anything that could have been useful to Team Rocket's mission. Decarli had even suggested using the supplies from the Department Store basement, and after he'd taken Proton down to look at it all, the executive had agreed.

The rest of the week was filled with similar excursions, with Decarli more often than not skipping work to assist Proton on his mission. They'd found plenty of strategically placed, abandoned buildings that would be perfect places for the agents to stay in the days prior to the take-over, as well as plenty of other places they could rob for supplies in the middle of the night. The entire time, they'd seen neither hair nor hide of Cipher, which was wonderful, as that would drastically simplify things- they would only have to worry about GPD and the IP, in that case. Things were going quite swimmingly, if Proton did say so himself. In fact, things were going so well, that they were able to move to the next part of his mission quite easily- getting the layout of the Radio Tower, and finding a place to stash the Tower Director.

"I don't think this is going to work, Proton," Decarli murmured as they approached the Radio Tower. Proton- decked out in some street clothes- shot him an amused glance.

"Not if you keep freakin' out," he agreed. "Remember, we're university students- and if you have to call me anything while we're in there, you call me Lance, got it?"

"We're going to get _so_ arrested." Decarli sighed, then smirked. "Ah, well. The one time I get to use your real name? I'll take it."

"See? Nothing to worry about." Proton snickered. "Now, just let me do the talking, and everything's gonna be good, a'ight?" They made their way into the tower, clipboards and measuring instruments in hand, and began wandering around the lobby. For a while, they made their progress unhindered, but several minutes later, Proton felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned around, blinking, to see the receptionist standing before him.

"Excuse me, sir," she said, "what exactly are you doing...?"

"Oh, me?" He flashed her his most charming smile, and inwardly smirked when she blushed a little- yeah, he still had it. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb anyone. Me and my friend here, we're studying architecture at the University of Blackthorn. We're here on a project, we gotta try and recreate the blueprints of a famous building."

"You and him?" the receptionist asked, motioning towards Decarli.

"Yes, ma'am." Proton nodded. "It's the Masters program. Lee is my partner for the project. It's alright, isn't it? I mean, I guess we could always go to the Pokethlon Dome, but it's nowhere near as impressive..." The receptionist stared at him for a long moment, before shrugging.

"Well... I don't see why not," she said, "just try not to disturb anyone." Proton nodded.

"You wouldn't happen to have the original blueprints here, by any chance, would you?" Decarli asked, popping up over his shoulder.

"Actually, we do." She nodded and motioned towards the stairs. "We were just having some renovations done, and the City Hall allowed us to have them here, on site- would you like to see them?"

"It would sure help us out. Could we?" The receptionist smiled and nodded again and led them up the stairs and to a small sitting room on one of the upper floors, where she introduced them to the contractor who were there, and explained their project. They were allowed to sit and study the plans as long as they were quiet about it, and they spent the time quietly pointing out good places to have their men stationed. The instant the contractor left to use the restroom, they rolled up the blueprints, stuffed them into Proton's backpack, and left before anyone realized what had happened, bidding a cheery farewell to the receptionist.

"That was easy as hell," Decarli laughed as they passed a _Sunflora Coffee _several blocks later.

"I know right?" Proton replied. "We can finish making the plans tonight once your wife is in bed, and then all we gotta do is find a place to keep the fuckin' director! Damn, Archer's gonna give us a good raise, man, I can see it now- a fool-proof plan two weeks early? We're on top of the world, man!"

"And not a single Cipher to be found!" Decarli slapped him affectionately on the back. "If I didn't know better, Lance, I'd say we were right back in the old days!"

"Hey, how about we stop for some tacos? My treat."

"Hah, I haven't had _Taco Beldum_ in _months_. I'm in."

They were like giddy school-children, practically racing each other down the streets and laughing like idiots as they traded insults. It really was like the old days. Proton had known he'd missed Decarli, but he hadn't realized it had been so much. None of the grunts ever understood his sense of humor, and any attempts at trying to get even mildly friendly with them usually fell flat. Decarli, however, was not only proficient at keeping him in line (unlike fuckin' _Seliber_), and took his humor, however dark or insulting, in stride, more often than not throwing it right back at him as though he'd used Mirror Coat. It was refreshing, and energizing; he was glad he had his old lieutenant back.

It was when they were leaving the _Taco Beldum_, filled with queso and questionable taco meat, that something odd happened. Decarli had been trying to decide the most efficient way for them to return to his apartment when Proton spotted something suspiciously white disappearing down a tunnel to the Underground Path. He flung an arm out to keep Decarli from going any further, and when his old friend asked what was going on, he merely jerked his head in the direction of the tunnel and ran to follow whoever had gone down there. Decarli sighed and followed him.

The Underground Path was dark and dingy, just as always. He'd hidden down there plenty of times in the past with Petrel, to avoid the cops, and most of the trainers that frequented the place seemed to recognize them instantly, which was nice, because no one approached them.

"What are we here for, exactly?" Decarli whispered and Proton hurried off down the path. He stopped at a turn and pressed himself against the wall for a moment and then, slowly, leaned around peer down the next hallway.

"Cipher," he growled, "I think I saw one of them run down here. They may have an outpost, or something." Decarli frowned.

"We can't just rush in, here," he replied, "if we get caught- if _I_ get caught-" Proton rolled his eyes and cut him off.

"Then head back to your apartment and stand by," he hissed. "I'm serious. I'm gonna check this place out, either way- if you head back, you can at least let HQ know. You still have Petrel's number, don't you?"

"Well... yes, but-"

"Alright. I'll only be an hour or two. If I'm not back by tonight, call him and let him know what happened, alright?" Decarli paused, brow furrowed, before he let out a sigh and threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Be careful, alright?" he asked. "I don't want this on my head."

"It won't be," Proton promised, "now get out of here." Decarli nodded, and without another word, headed off back towards the surface. Proton waited for him to leave, and as soon as the coast was clear, he dashed down the hallway, opened the door he found there, and slipped quietly inside.

If possible, it was even darker in the room he entered than it had been in the Underground Path, with an odd structure- there were walls everywhere, splitting the room up into a series of small, square rooms with differently colored floors. What the hell sort of layout was that, anyways? Completely random and ridiculous. There was absolutely no need for it. Wearily, he sent out Twitch.

"Lead the way, buddy," he whispered, and the golbat nodded and began flitting through the rooms. Proton noticed a trio of switches on the wall as they passed through one of the rooms, and idly, he wondered what it was for. He'd have to check it out, later. Other than the switches, the rest of the floor was empty, which was a good sign. There probably weren't many of those Cipher punks, if that was the case, so he was probably going to be safe. He had no qualms about going even further when Twitch led him to another set of stairs. In fact, he felt as though he were prepared for anything he could find down there, especially once he flicked out his switchblade and reversed his grip on it, preparing himself for battle.

"It's a warehouse," he murmured as soon as he saw the boxes. An _underground_ warehouse- the perfect place to stash the director. All he had to do was take out the Cipher grunts in there, and he was golden. But why was it so empty? It was kind of eerie- he could have _sworn_ he'd seen a Cipher grunt running down there. He frowned and turned towards the general direction Twitch was. "Twitch, can you see any- Twitch?" When he couldn't find his bat, he frowned. This was starting to weird him out. His golbat had literally been there just a second ago. Where could he have possibly...?

There was a sound from far off to the side, and Proton flinched, raising his knife as he turned to see what it had been, only to see a rattata scurrying away. Mentally, he berated himself, and shaking his head, turned to go search for Twitch. He had been in no way expecting the arms to grab him from behind, at least two or three pairs, holding him steady as he swore and flailed, trying to rip himself from their grip, but all of a sudden something was pressed to his face, covering his mouth and nose, something that smelled funny- _chloroform_, he realized. He started to struggle harder, but whoever was grabbing him was doing a wonderful job of it, and he couldn't break free.

"_Heheheh... _Gotcha, Executive."

That was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

* * *

**What is this? A cliff-hangar? How _dare_ the author! X3 I guess you'll just have to wait and see what happens~**


	36. Guardianist Conversion

Disclaimer: To disclaim or not to disclaim; that is the question. I think I'm gonna disclaim. Y'know. Avoid lawsuits and whatnot.

The instant Proton and Archer left the base, Petrel sighed and crossed his arms almost defensively- he had no idea why, there was nothing for him to get defensive about- and stood, watching his sweetheart leave, yet again. It was hard. It was always hard. Being stuck in the base wasn't exactly a party, and he was always worrying. It was one thing when Proton was under the supervision of Decarli, or Archer; hell, even under the supervision of Seliber, Petrel could at least rest knowing someone was around who was capable of keeping Proton from hurting himself, but the fact of the matter was, as much as he denied it to himself and to others, his lover was unstable. Any number of little things could set him off if he were in a bad mood, these days, and it was just a matter of time before Proton did something not even Archer or Ariana could overlook. Just the thought made Petrel restless; he'd never get any work done, like this, especially without adderall. He wished Bernard would hurry up and get his prescription filled for him.

Of course... he _could_ go fill it, himself, it wasn't like Ariana was _actually_ back yet... And with Archer gone, who had to know? He would go out for a few hours and be back in time to pretend he'd been getting high in the office all along. Ariana would fall for it, she usually did, these days. He wouldn't even need a disguise- he knew for a fact that the people in Mahogany either never recognized him, or at the very least, didn't care what he was doing in their town unless he was in uniform and causing trouble, which he never was. He'd only gone out in town in his uniform for leisure time _once_, when he'd been a kid, and after his dad bailed him and brought him back to base, he'd got himself a sound belting and no dinner. He remembered being so surprised the next day when he found out all Alex had gotten was a grounding.

As he went back to the Executive quarters to change into some street clothes, his mind moved from Alex to the necklace he'd given to Proton so long ago, when Team Rocket was still a force to be reckoned with. For the most part, it really did seem to work- Proton had gotten injured so many times since he got it, but not once had he ever actually died, despite how serious his wounds were, sometimes. Most of his brain told him that he was being silly, and that as legendary pokemon couldn't have _possibly_ done what all the different religions claimed they did, some necklace forged in 'holy' flames and purified in 'holy' waters was definitely _not_ the cause of Proton's survival- it had mostly been Petrel's own hand, own precision, his experience and efficiency allowing him to tend to anything Proton was capable of sustaining until his sweetheart pulled through. But another part, the smaller part... It couldn't have just been luck that brought Proton to him during those final, critical moments where survival was still possible, could it? Maybe Mew...

He allowed the thought to trail off as he scanned the room, his eyes being drawn instantly toward Archer's Tome as though an unseen hand was guiding him. Hesitantly, he edged over and delicately took the book from the shelf, cracking it open and letting the pages fall as they did. His eyes skimmed over the page, and he vaguely wondered what he was searching for before he suddenly remembered he didn't believe in religion- in fact, he went out of his way to not believe in religion, no matter what he always told his father about observing the proper Mewist traditions. He didn't need some Mew-damn _book_ to tell him what was, he could just grab life by the horns and-! The train of thought halted completely as his eyes fell upon a particular set of lines.

_Give only what I ask of you, Child_

_And I shall give you and your kin My blessings_

_All I ask is your belief_

For some reason, the lines struck a chord with him, and he couldn't help but stare and read them, over and over again, until they were seared into his mind. Maybe... maybe he could... With a frown, Petrel closed the Tome and put it back neatly on the shelf, turning to grab a pamphlet he'd picked up from the local Guardianist temple a few weeks ago. It... wasn't like he had anything better to do. With a sigh, he went to pack a bag with what he would need, as well as the pamphlet, and headed for the surface.

* * *

Bishop to F4. Queen to B6. Checkmate.

The young red-haired boy knocked over his opponent's king almost lazily as the man huffed and stood, leaving before he could lose any more money. As it was, Silver had been playing him for quite some time, and his wallet was considerably fatter than it was when they'd started. He reset the timer back to zero and then reset the board, gazing around to see if anyone else had wanted to play him. When no one was actually around he sighed, and turned to Blues and Orchid (sneasel and bayleef, respectively), who were busy chasing each other around the park. It was a nice day- the perfect day to go out, catch that gyarados at the lake, and then go to rub it in Archer's face. Except he really needed more money so he could go and buy some greatballs, because he was currently out, and there was no way he was putting an angry, shiny gyarados into a regular pokeball.

He was just about to get up and go look for trainers to fight to get his cash when, all of a sudden, someone sat down across from his and placed a wad of pokès next to the chess board. Silver stopped and turned again, this time to see the familiar purple hair and slouch of Petrel, who offered him a smile.

"White or black?" the man asked.

"Black," Silver replied. Petrel nodded and moved one of his pawns forward- from the looks of it, he was going with some sort of Sicilian opening, as he was usually prone to doing, and Silver decided he was better off going with a counter strategy.

"So, you've made it far," the purple executive said as he moved yet another pawn, "and in just a few months, too. I gotta say, I underestimated you. I'm guessing that bayleef was the chikorita someone stole from Elm?"

"She's mine, now," Silver replied dully, staring intently at the board. "Why not speed chess?"

"Trust me, kiddo, you don't wanna play me at speed chess. It won't be any fun to you, at all, I've seen the way you play." Silver watched intently at every move Petrel made, and countered them each wonderfully, slowly but surely gaining the upper hand. "You're getting good. You've been practicing, eh?"

"It's how I make most of my money," Silver admitted. "I keep losing to these two brats, and with the rank I'm at in the region, I have to pay out a lot. It's this girl with a croconaw, and some kid with a quilava." He'd taken several of Petrel's better pieces, by now, and he wondered if the man had always been that bad, or if he himself had gotten that good.

"Yeah, I heard about Miss Knit-cap," Petrel laughed. "Proton had some trouble with her in Azalea." Silver frowned.

"So she really did beat him?" he asked. "I thought she was just making that up! She's strong, if she can beat Proton..."

"Yeah, well, according to Seliber, one of her pokemon died in the process- she may be strong, but she's inexperienced. You've got two years over her on training. Remember that, kiddo, and you'll be alright."

"Checkmate."

"What?"

"Checkmate. You know, that thing where your king can't move or my pieces can take him?"

"Haha, I didn't even notice. Go again?"

"It's your cash."

"Good boy. Keep 'em coughin' it up, it's how the world works." Silver snorted as he reset the board and offered Petrel the pick of side, ending up as the white pieces, this game. He made his move, and watched as Petrel completely misinterpreted his opening strategy. Ah, well. Free money was always nice.

"Is Ariana mad?"

"What do you think, kiddo? The only reason I'm not out on my ass is because they need me for the take-over."

"Take-over?"

"Yeah, the Radio Tower. It's gonna be big, we're almost ready to start. Pro's actually doing security detail in Goldenrod for the next few weeks. You gonna come try and stop us?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"You should. It'd be good for you." Silver glanced up to see if Petrel was serious, and was surprised to find he actually was.

"Shouldn't you be trying to indoctrinate me, or something?" he asked after a moment in which he took both Petrel's queen and one of his bishops. Petrel laughed.

"I'm only for willing indoctrination, sorry," he said. "You gotta _want_ that baptism, kiddo. But if you want my opinion, I think you made the right decision, turning your back on us. I've been considering the same thing, lately."

"Why don't you?"

"Proton wants to stay. I stay as long as he does. The instant he wants out, we're heading to Hoenn."

"What's there?"

"We bought a beach house there when you were nine. It's kind of a secret, though, so don't tell anyone, alright?" Another move of his queen; another checkmate. Silver scooped up the cash and stashed it in his wallet, smirking.

"You're worse at this than I remember."

"How about one more go? Speed chess, this time, your pick of pieces. No bets, no mercy."

"You're on." Again, the board was set, with Silver once more playing black, and he and Petrel stretched and settled themselves before his once-babysitter hit his side of the timer and made his move. It was on.

There was no more discussion after that, only their war, and all of a sudden Petrel was playing on a whole other level. No matter what move Silver made, Petrel seemed to have a counter for it, and he cleanly and methodically wiped the board of each and every one of Silver's pieces until only his king, stuck in a corner, was left. He'd been completely and utterly decimated.

"You're good, kiddo, but don't get cocky," Petrel lectured, "you're nowhere _near_ my level. Checkmate." He flicked over Silver's king and stood, smiling serenely, as Silver just stared at the board in shock.

"You cheater!" he said after a moment. "You let me win the first two times!"

"I didn't _let_ you win," Petrel protested, "I just took it easy on you. I know how stubborn you are, you wouldn't have let me just _give you_ your allowance. What can I say, I'm a nice guy. Now c'mon, walk with me. There's something I gotta do." Silver grumbled under his breath as he stood, as well, and recalled his bayleef to her pokeball. Blues took the hint and ran over, leaping up to hitch a ride on the boy's shoulder.

"Where are we going?" he asked as Petrel led him out of the park and back into town.

"Somewhere that scares the shit out of me," the executive replied nonchalantly. "That's the other reason I decided to stop and play you. I don't want to go in alone." Silver snorted.

"You're so weak," he berated. "Be a man and grow a pair."

"Haha, you're starting to sound like my old man. It's funny because you're still a little squeaky, though."

"I am _not_ squeaky!"

"Dawwww, look at the li'l angry squeaky boy!" Silver sneered and lunged, but Petrel merely danced out of the way of his punch and continued his lazy stride down the street. "Gotta be faster than that if you wanna hit me." Silver huffed in annoyance.

It took them several blocks, but eventually, they came to a stop across the street from a somewhat large, domed structure, like something one would find in Hoenn. It looked relatively old- it was probably built hundreds of years ago. When was Mahogany founded, again? Silver frowned as he thought on that. Petrel, who was now standing right at his side, shifted awkwardly on his feet, the only readable sign that he was in any way nervous.

"You can't be serious," Silver scoffed, "_this_ is what you were afraid of? A temple?"

"Hey, little man, don't laugh at me," Petrel replied distractedly, "I've never actually... I mean, my old man used to make me and Viper go to those Mewist things in the base when we were kids, but it wasn't like it was in a church, or anything, and I've never actually- I- I don't-..." He sighed then, dropping the sentence altogether as he just shook his head. "I'm not gonna chicken out. I'm going in."

"Sure you are," Silver replied dubiously. Petrel shot him a scowl, but quickly turned his attention back to the temple and took a deep breath, clutching tightly onto the straps of his backpack as he began to walk towards the entrance. Silver rolled his eyes and followed after him.

The inside of the building was even nicer than the outside; it was lit, dimly, with tons of candles. Ornate metal carvings covered the walls, showing what Silver assumed to be Guardianist tales of creation. The pews were made of a polished, dark wood, and the floor of gray marble with flecks of gold here and there. Petrel took a slow glanced around before continuing forward down the aisle. With each step he took, he seemed to hunch over more and more, steadily making himself smaller. If they hadn't been in a temple, Silver would have laughed.

At the far end of the temple, there wasn't a pulpit, or anything even vaguely like it; instead there was a large, silver fountain, with a golden pedestal in the middle upon which a fire blazed. To either side of the fountain there was an altar, one with a majestic silver sculpture of Lugia, the other with a dazzling golden sculpture of Ho-Oh. Overall, it looked rather nice, and Silver had to hand it to these people; they knew how to decorate.

It seemed they came a time of the day when the temple was mostly empty, save for a couple souls touring and a few more sitting in the pews, probably praying, or something. There was a woman polishing the Ho-Oh statue at the front, dressed in traditional Guardianist robes, and it was she Petrel approached. He stood a few feet away from her, doing his awkward shift and seeming rather confused as how to initiate the conversation. Eventually, however, the woman looked up, and smiled when she saw him, pausing in her polishing.

"How can I help you, child?" she asked gently. The executive opened his mouth wordlessly, and seemed to be struggling to speak. Silver rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. The woman, however, had the patience of a saint, and simply waited, smile never once faltering, as Petrel gathered himself.

"I'm here to convert," he eventually managed, quite meekly. "I- I was in, the other day, I have- I have a pamphlet...?" He awkwardly went to dig through his bag to find it, but the priestess placed her hand on his arm, effectively halting him.

"Have you brought a bathing suit?" she asked, and silently, he nodded. "Good. And the boy, too?"

"I'm just here to make sure he doesn't chicken out," Silver piped in. The priestess' smile became amused, and Petrel flushed slightly in embarrassment. Without another word, she beckoned them on down a hall leading off to the side that Silver hadn't noticed, and they followed her down and into a room with a deep, inflatable basin filled with water, and a small changing stall off to the side. She directed Petrel into the stall to change and then disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a pocket tome and a few other trinkets she placed on a table to the side.

"I feel exposed," Petrel whined, now clad in only his swimsuit.

"Don't worry," the priestess laughed, "it won't take long. Now, come over here, and we'll begin. Have you brought the offering?"

"Yes, ma'am, let me get it..." Petrel dove into his backpack and dug passed his clothes, pulling out what seemed to be a photograph several moment later. Silver watched on curiously as he passed it to the priestess, who stared at it for a good, long moment.

"Did he ask you to do this?" she asked. Silver craned his neck to see who she was talking about, and found the photo to be one of Petrel and Proton three years prior, not long after the organization's initial downfall. Petrel slowly shook his head.

"This was my own decision," he murmured. "I... I need him protected. I need him safe. In one of the passages, Lugia- Lugia tells Terentius '_I shall give you and your kin My blessings/ all I ask-_'"

"'_Is your belief_'," the priestess finished for him, nodding. "that seems to be the one that usually speaks to people. Well... if you're certain."

Silver watched on as they placed a variety of herbs, as well as the photo, in a bowl, and set it all on fire, the priestess saying a prayer in some language or another he didn't understand. They let it all burn down to ash before they put the fire out, and by then the room smelled sweet and somewhat spicy. Oil was mixed into the ashes, and the mixture was then taken and smeared across Petrel's heart. Another prayer was said, and the purple executive was led into the basin.

"Inflatable tub, huh?" he laughed nervously. The priestess laughed as well.

"Yes," she said, "it's much easier to clean."

"I'll bet." And then, he was pushed under. Silver watched on in amusement as he struggled for a moment, trying to push the priestess away until, slowly, he came to his senses and remembered she wasn't actively trying to kill him. A few seconds later, he was brought up and allowed to catch a breath.

"Calm yourself, child. It's alright. Lugia shall protect you." And again, he went under, this time far more docile, though still a little rigid. He was held there for slightly longer before the priestess let him back up, and he sputtered and coughed a little, gasping for breath, until he drew one in deep and nodded. The final time he was pushed under, he looked almost relaxed, accepting of the baptism, even, and offered no resistance whatsoever as the priestess held him there for even longer. When he was let up for the final time, he coughed and sputtered again, shaking the wet hair out of his face and slowly standing and regaining his balance.

"Was that it?" he asked as he wiped the water out of his eyes.

"Congratulations, my child," the priestess said, "you've been reborn."

"I don't suppose towels come with rebirths?" Silver snickered as Petrel tilted his head and attempted to get the water out of his ear. "'Cause I could definitely use one, not gonna lie." He was handed a towel, and once he dried himself, was shooed back into the stall to change back into his regular clothes. When he came back out, the priestess handed him the pocket Tome and then offered him the choice of one of two necklaces. One, silver and droplet-shaped, seemed to represent Lugia; the other, gold and heart-shaped, represetative of Ho-Oh. Petrel stared at them for a long moment before quirking an eyebrow. "How should I even choose? Should I just go with that he had? Because he's got the Lugia one, and I'm not sure if we're allowed to have the same one." The priestess frowned thoughtfully and peered between the two necklaces as well, before turning a gentle smile upon the executive.

"They help you heal," she said, "and something tells me your heart needs more healing than your soul." She held the golden necklace out to him, and he donned it immediately, allowing it to fall under his shirt, onto his chest.

"I can't believe I spent twenty bucks on his when I could have just gotten him one by converting," he chuckled. "Well... thank you, ma'am. For your time, I mean."

"I was happy to do it," the priestess replied. "The next gathering is Friday night, at eight. We have meet-and-greets afterwards for all the new converts- you should come."

"I will. Thank you, again." Petrel bowed respectfully to her, and with much more confidence than when he came in, returned to the temple's main hall and headed towards the door, Silver following leisurely behind him.

"So how do you feel?" he asked once they were outside. Petrel grinned at him over his shoulder and stretched, attempting to absorb as much of the sun as possible; it had been cold inside the temple, and getting wet probably hadn't helped things.

"Better," the executive admitted, "much, much better. I can honestly say I'm glad I did that."

"Are you really gonna go to the thing on Friday?"

"I'm seriously considering it, provided I can sneak out without getting caught. How about you? You seriously gonna try and fight us?" Silver smirked.

"You bet I am. As _soon_ as I catch that damn gyarados."

"Well, then," Petrel said, "I suppose that makes us enemies once more."

"Eh, we can wait until after lunch to try killing each other. I'm starving."

"Yeah, me, too. Tacos?"

"Sounds good to me."

It was weird, Silver mused as they headed for one of the local Mexican restaurants. Petrel had never been religious, before. In fact, he could remember times when Proton had asked if Petrel was going to celebrate any specific Mewist holiday, because he'd been interested in celebrating some, too, only to hear Petrel reply with scoffs and denials. What could have possibly changed? Was it something innate, or had he really gotten that desperate? So many questions raced through Silver's mind, but he tried to ignore them as Petrel told him a rather entertaining story about the time he'd gotten high with his ditto, though one kept resurfacing over and over.

What did _he_ believe, and would he himself have the strength to admit to himself when his beliefs were changing? He could only hope so.

* * *

**Two chapters in one day? What manner of sorcery is this? :P Just felt like taking a break from regularly scheduled programming- wait, what? You were expecting a continuation of the last chapter? :P I never said the cliff-hanger would conclude _right away._**

**Every time you review, you get Silver more greatballs so he can catch the red gyarados. Help a Silver. Review a chapter.**


	37. High-Fighting

Disclaimer: Do not get high off of koffing fumes. Things will go terribly, terribly wrong.

It had been a boring, boring week, thus far. After Silver disappeared to go do his thing, Petrel had returned to the base and lazed around in the office, waiting for Ariana to return. When she did, it was with her murkrow, Nyx, completely banged up. Petrel had taken the time to patch the little bird up, putting her wing in a splint, and informed Ariana that he'd need to keep an eye on her while she recovered. Ariana had thanked him profusely and simply left the stupid bird with him- of course, it wasn't like he had anything better to do than look after it, no one else seemed to need him for anything. Dammit.

With a forlorn sigh, Petrel flopped forward onto his desk. He was so. Fucking. _Bored_. Silver had refused to stay in the base, not like that had been surprising. Ariana was always busy working, and he knew better than to bother her. He had to keep his koffing in pokeballs so they wouldn't choke him out, so playing with them was out of the picture entirely. Helix was sleeping, more often than not, and his ditto was very, _very_ cranky when it was woken in the middle of its naps. To top it all off, there was some speculation that the Elite Four had some idea that they had a base in the town, and so they were pretty much on lock-down until everything blew over, which meant Petrel couldn't sneak out to go to that stupid Guardianist thing in the evenings even if he felt up for trying. Overall, it was just a terrible time in his life, with nothing to keep him busy and no purpose. He was bored as hell, without Proton around.

"We should have just left, Helix," the purple executive sighed, glancing at his sleeping ditto. The pink blob of goo didn't reply, but merely snoozed on, and with a shake of his head, Petrel turned his gaze to Nyx. The murkrow was hanging around on a perch-stand off in the corner, staring intently at him. It was kinda creepy, to be honest. "Oi. Nyx, girl, you're creeping me out. You're not trying to predict my death, are you?" Nyx blinked at him, one, twice, then cocked her head.

"Nevermore," she squawked in reply. Petrel snickered.

"A well-read murkrow, to boot. Ariana knows her shit, I'll give her that."

"Nevermore," Nyx repeated. Petrel rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, quoth the raven, whatever. Hey, you hungry? I'm gonna have a snack." Nyx continued to merely blink at him, obviously in no way fooled by his shenanigans. The purple executive took her silence as a 'no' and shrugged, beginning to dig in his desk drawers for his super special snack tin that he always kept hidden.

To be honest, all three of the others frowned upon his pass-time, even Proton, which was odd enough. The youngest executive had never seemed to have a problem with Petrel's recreational activities when he was in on it, and when he was in on it, it usually involved potions of some sort. But then there had been that fight they'd had, back when so many members had been leaving, Proton's own lieutenant among them, and Petrel had been starting to get into one of his many downward spirals of despair- really, it was one of the only things that helped. He always felt better after a couple pot brownies. But Proton, upon finding him higher than a drifloon, had cursed and yelled at him, and the entire thing had just devolved until he'd gotten on the wrong side of his sweeheart's rather powerful backhand (in his own defense, he'd been so fucking high his filter was just _gone_ and all of the wrong words were tumbling out of his mouth), prompting him to make one of his many empty promises that he would stop. Really, all it had accomplished was making him more secretive of his hobby.

Either way, he was running low on brownies, and he needed to make more, soon. Possibly poffins. He'd always wondered what poffins tasted like. But for now, brownies- he had about four or five left, which would definitely be enough for the day. Ignoring Nyx's now-disapproving stare, he plucked one out of his brownie tin and popped it into his mouth. It occurred to him, as he attempted to chew the brownie into swallowable-sized chunks, that it would have been a good idea to throw the brownies into a microwave for a few seconds before he began eating them, so they were gooey and warm, but alas, he'd already started eating them- he was now feeling _way_ too lazy to actually get up. His chair was so comfy.

Petrel wasn't exactly sure when Bernard barged into the office like he owned the place- all he knew was that, by the time his lieutenant had, he'd managed to finish off the last of his brownies and was so, _so_ fucking hungry. Seriously, he was starting to consider trying to eat Helix. Bernard, on the other hand, did not look hungry in the least, and the man frowned and slowly glanced around the room before his eyes settled on the snack tin.

"Petrel," he said after a moment, "you're not doing what I think you're doing, are you?"

"Dude," Petrel replied, grinning, "people are doing shit you don't even know about. Me included. So there. Hey, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure." Bernard strode over and grabbed Petrel by the wrist- why did he have to do that? Heh, he was such a weirdo.

"Can you go out and get me food?"

"Yeah, you're high." Bernard let out a hiss of air not unlike that of a deflating balloon's, which Petrel found exceedingly humorous, and let the purple executive's wrist drop. "You know you can't keep doing this, Petrel, your rate is low enough normally. This is bad for you."

"Dude, you gotta _chill._" Petrel pouted. "If you keep stressin' out, man, you'll have a rough time."

"I'm not doing anything for you while you're high." The purple executive whined and gave his lieutenant the most pathetic look he could muster.

"But _Bernaarrrrddd_," he replied, "I'm _hungry_..."

"I said no. You want food, get it yourself. Of course, if last time was any indication, you'd just get yourself in trouble with MPD, again."

"Dude, you don't gotta worry about undercover cops. If you ask a cop if he's a cop, he's gotta tell you."

"'Why yes, I am an undercover cop, good guess', said no undercover cop _ever_."

"Heyyyy, fuck you, man. Hey, you want a brownie? I think I have some left." Bernard watched on as Petrel dug in his desk for his brownie tin, a look as intense and concentrated as someone completely high could manage plastered onto his face. After a few minutes of searching with no success, Petrel let out a sound of disappointment and sat back up, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "I could have sworn it was here..."

"You ate them all," Bernard pointed out dryly. "The tin's on your desk. Empty, I would wager." Petrel frowned and glanced between Bernard and the tin on his desk before silently opening said tin and peering inside. Upon finding no pot brownies, his frown deepened, and he turned it over and shook it as if that would magically make more brownies fall out.

"They're all gone!" he whined. "Dammit, I'm _hungry..._" With a forlorn sigh, he placed the tin back on his desk and replaced the lid. "Now what am I gonna do...?"

"Well, while you're pondering your pot brownie conundrum, there, could you go ahead and tell me what the new password to the generator room? I have to give the electrode their checkups and it seems I never got the memo about the password change."

"Huh?" Petrel glanced up briefly from his tin and gave Bernard a lazy grin. "Oh, hey, Bernard! Yeah, yeah, generator room, yeah. Nah, dude, I did that, like, two hours ago. It's 'Hail Giovanni'."

"You're starting to sound like Archer," Bernard snorted. "Thanks. I'll be back when I get them all looked after."

"Aww, nah, man, you're not gonna try and go in, are you?"

"...What did you do?"

"It's voice locked, man! It'll only open for me!" Petrel's grin broadened as Bernard stared at him incredulously.

"You _what_?" his lieutenant asked. "That's a _terrible_ idea!"

"Nah!" Petrel disagreed. "The E knows we're here, right? Well now they won't be able to get in! It's a great idea!"

"Okay, _yes_, but now _I'm_ not able to get in," came the exasperated reply. Petrel narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Are you with the E?" he asked. Bernard face-palmed.

"If I get you food will you get me into the generator room?" he asked after a moment in which they were both completely silent.

"Now that you mention it, I _am_ kinda hungry... I wonder if I have any brownies left..." Bernard watched on once more as Petrel began to dig in his desk again.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes, Petrel," his lieutenant sighed, "try not to get yourself in any trouble, alright?"

"Huh? What'd you-?" By the time Petrel glanced back up, Bernard was already long gone, and he stroked his goatee idly for a second before turning to Helix, who was still snoozing. "...I wonder if ditto are poisonous... Hey... hey, Helix..." Without any regard for his poor pink blob of goo's sleep schedule, he began poking at his gelatinous body, giggling slightly to himself as it jiggled. "Hey. Hey. Hey, Helix. Hey, wake up. You jiggle, man." When his ditto merely woke up, gave him the evil eye, and went to go try and sleep somewhere else, Petrel shrugged, and slowly glanced around the room. He was starting to get bored. Maybe there was something he could do to keep himself busy.

With a grunt, he pushed himself up from his chair and began searching the room for anything he could find to keep himself occupied- his father had always said that an idle mind was a hpyno's playground, and Petrel was in no way keen on allowing a hypno into his mind. He'd heard stories about hypno, after all, and they were downright creepy, if not prone to inducing bed-wetting nightmares in young, sensitive, purple-haired teens whose ditto was not available for snuggles because it caught a cold and was in the base's pokemon center. Not that he would ever admit the fact, of course. His father had also said being scared of pokemon was for pansies, and so Petrel made a point of not being scared of any pokemon he came across. Except, of course, joltik and galvantula, but those would kill you as soon as look as look you, and so he figured he had a pretty good excuse for being scared of them.

After a good ten minutes scrounging the office, Petrel eventually managed to come across a worn trench coat, one of their boss's old fedoras that Archer kept lying around for Mew knew what reason (_Ho-Oh _knew what reason, he had to correct himself- this whole conversion thing was really starting to mess with his head), and Ariana's spare make-up. It wasn't much, at all, but it would definitely do, and so toting all of it along with him, the purple executive went to go sit in his chair and begin work on his disguise. Maybe if he did a good enough job, he could convinced Archer that Giovanni was back, and then they could just go back to doing what they used to do. Then everything would be okay, and Archer and Ariana would be proud of him. His father, too, if he ever actually found out what happened to the man (he tried not to think about it too much, it tended to just depress him)- and possibly his brother, though he was less interested in Viper's wellbeing. Viper could drown in a whirlpool for all he cared.

When the alarms had started going off, he hadn't even given them a second thought. Proton liked to have them tested once or twice a month, just to be safe, and so Petrel had been convinced that Seliber had been the once in charge of handling that while the green-haired executive was away. He just continued working on his disguise, trying to get his pitch and speech patterns just right, and ignored the flashing red light by the door and loud sound piercing through the haze swirling around inside of his head. Not much later, they stopped, and Petrel didn't pay that much mind, either- he supposed it was a shorter test than usual. Seliber was really good at that. Of course, the loud noises had woken Helix, who was grumpy as a ditto could be.

"Hey, hey, Helix," Petrel said soothingly, "why don't you transform into something to get your mind off it?"

"Dit," Helix squeaked in frustration.

"Aw, c'mon, you need practice, man," Petrel replied. "Transform into Twitch. Go on." Helix huffed a ditto-y huff and transformed into a small zubat, flittering up to perch on Petrel's desk.

"Good job!" the purple executive praised. "That was quick, man. Hey, whatcha think of my disguise, huh?" Helix was never able to reply. At that very moment, the door opened, and a determined looking kid with a red jacket and a black-and-gold hat ran in, a girafarig with a sparkling coat following along behind him.

"Hey!" the kid called, "you're the one in charge here, right?"

"Dude!" Petrel laughed, "how the fuck did you get in? Uh- wait- I- I mean- Muhahaha, we've been waiting for you. So, you are- uh…. Wait. What's your name, again?" The boy blinked at him, appearing to be taken by surprise.

"Uhh... Gold?" he replied hesitantly. "I'm here to, y'know, stop you and stuff?" Petrel laughed.

"That's great!" he replied. "Good on you, kid. Look at you, tryin' to be all grown up and fighting bad guys."

"...You _are_ with Team Rocket, aren't you?" Gold fidgeted awkwardly, though Petrel didn't pay that much attention.

"Me? You don't know who I am? It is me, Giovanni. The majestic Giovanni himself!" he replied before launching into a stream of giggles.

"Yeeeaaaahhh," Gold said, "no. Sorry, no. No, you're not. You're nothing like him. I've seen videos."

"…_Huh?_" Petrel's face fell. "I don't sound anything like Giovanni? I don't even _look_ like Giovanni? How _come_? I've worked _so hard_ to mimic him!"

"Maybe this just isn't your thing," Gold suggested. "So... we gonna battle, or what? Because if I can skip you, I think I should be in good enough shape to clean out the rest of the building. Just saying."

"No! No, you can't skip me!" Petrel scowled as he stood and removed his disguise. "I am a Team Rocket Executive! I shall _not_ be skipped- I'm more important than _that! _I have _pride_, you know! My dad- my dad was always saying, y'know, 'Lambda, you gotta give everything to the team', so I did, I gave the team fucking _everything_, and I didn't do it just to have some snot-nosed brat _skip_ me!" Gold threw his hands up placatingly.

"Whoa, there, easy," he said. "If you're gonna fight me, I'll fight, I was just saying-"

"You must be trying to sneak into the radio-transmitter room," Petrelo cut him off. "Well, that's not going to happen. That room is protected with a special password. The password is 'Hail Giovanni'."

"Okay, you have _got_ to be the _worst_ bad guy _ever_. You _just_ told me you weren't gonna let me get inside. And, anyways, I'm just looking for the generator room... With all the electrode? Yeah. That place." Petrel continued on as if he couldn't hear him.

"Surprised to hear it from me? Knowing the password won't help you though. The door won't open unless I say the password. It only reacts to my voice! Helix, go! Use- uh- use whatever you feel like, man!" Helix stared at Petrel for a moment, tilting his currently-bat-head in confusion. "Uh... Confuse Ray? Maybe?" The ditto wing-shrugged and took to the air.

"A zubat, huh? Poor li'l guy," Gold sighed. "Alright, Houdini! Get in there and give it a Psybeam!" The girafarig reared up on its hind legs for a momentand then came crashing down, charging forward as it unleashed a psybeam of epic proportions that Helix barely managed to avoid. The ditto-turned-zubat retaliated with Astonish, trying to fly around fast enough to take the girafarig by surprise, but said girafarig simply countered with Agility, matching Helix's speed.

"Shit!" Petrel laughed. "You're good! This- wow, this won't go well! Hey! Hey, Helix! Transform into Monoxide! Nothing bad could possibly happen!" Helix turned to give him an incredulous look (or what he assumed passed for incredulous on a zubat), but when he didn't change his order, the poor ditto sighed and transformed, trusting that his Master, as high as he was, would be able to realized the mistake he was making.

"From one poison-type to another, huh?" Gold laughed. "Yeah, definitely the worst bad guy ever. Houdini, Psybeam again!"

"Kirin!" Houdini hoofed at the ground before lowering its head and unleashing another Psybeam.

"Assurance, now!" Petrel called. Helix moved as quickly as a koffing body would allow him, getting partially hit by the psychic attack in the process, but holding on just long enough to deliver the dark-type attack to the poor girafarig, who apparently had already been relatively low on health; the strength of the attack made the poor thing faint, which was a shame, because Petrel had loved looking at it sparkle. Sparkly things were fun.

"Damn," Gold muttered. "Oh, well... good job, Houdini, you need some rest. Alright- Pyros, let's do this!" He recalled his girafarig and instead sent out a quilava, who lowered its head and let out a puff of smoke. "Start things off with a Flame Wheel!" The quilava leaped into the air, front-flipping as it engulfed itself in flames. Petrel frowned.

"Helix, man, time to be in the top ten percentage, 'kay?" he said. Just before the Flame Wheel landed, Helix dropped to the floor, now covered in tan fur with a long tail, baring his fangs and hissing. The now-raticate lunged as the quilava dropped back to the floor,lashing out with Crunch, and the poor fire-type writhed as teeth broke the skin.

"Ah, no! Pyros, quick, use Swift! Get it off of you!" The quilava obeyed, scraping its teeth through its own fur to generate some static before spitting the star-shaped energy at Helix. Seeing as their proximities were rather close, the ditto-turned-raticate couldn't avoid it, and took the full brunt of the attack.

"Wow. _Strong_. I'll give you that, kid," Petrel mused. Gold grinned.

"Thanks," he replied. "Sorry, but I think I gotta end this, now- Pyros, come back!" The quilava leaped around Helix, returning to Gold's side, before the boy let loose a hitmontop. "Bruce, use Rolling Kick before it can get you!"

"Helix!" Petrel called, "Scary Face, then use Hyper Fang!" The hitmontop slowed at Helix glared at it, but beyond that wasn't swayed- it launched itself straight towards Helix, and the poor ditto attempted to retreat, but to no avail. The attack, being super-effective, fainted Helix with one hit- the chunk of health the poor ditto had lost against the previous two pokemon probably helped with that, as well. Petrel just stared as his ditto slumped down into a puddle on the floor.

"Yeah!" Gold cheered. "I did it! I beat an executive! Just wait 'till Kris hears about this! Now, you're coming with me- you're gonna let me into the generator room, got it?"

"How... could I _lose_...?" Petrel murmured. "You're a _kid._ I've been training my whole _life_ to keep this position, and... I... I couldn't do _anything_... Giovanni, forgive me... After all the faith you put in me, I... I failed you..."

"...You're not gonna cry, are you?" Gold asked after a moment, grimacing.

"...Since disbanding Team Rocket three years ago, our Giovanni has been missing. But we're certain he's been waiting for the right time for our revival...," Petrel murmured. He recalled Helix quietly. This was a problem. Even in his state, he knew losing to some kid off the streets was a bad thing. The police would know where they were within the next couple hours. He had to get the team out and on their way to Goldenrod, or all of their hard work would end there. "...Losing to you won't change the fact that you are unable to get in the radio-transmitter room! You need my voice to unlock it!"

"Can't you just come unlock it?" Gold asked, exasperated. "Look, I beat you and everything. Just give in and let me into the transmitter room."

"Fuck that!" Petrel snapped. "Have fun trying to break in, you little bastard!" Without another word to the boy, he pulled the walkie-talkie off his belt and pressed the transmit button. "Bernard- Bernard are you there? Seliber? Anyone?" Static crackled as his only reply until, a few seconds later, someone picked up.

"_I'm sorry, sir,_" came Bernard's voice, "_I couldn't beat him_."

"It's alright," Petrel replied, "me, either. Get everyone evacuated, I'm going on ahead. I'll rondevous with Proton and see where we're heading."

"_Yes, sir. I'll have your food for you when we meet up_."

"Food?" Petrel blinked. "What food? Did I send you to go get food?" Bernard didn't say anything after that, and Petrel sighed. He didn't remember sending Bernard to get him food, much like he didn't remember eating his pot brownies- but he must have, because he was positive the room wasn't supposed to be _that_ slanted. He was surprised he actually noticed, of course- maybe he was finally sobering up. The Gold kid tried to say something else, but Petrel ignored him and ran for the door. He was almost there when he ran into something distinctly solid and fell to the floor. Rubbing his face, he scowled up, first at the wall, then at Gold, before pushing himself to his feet, double-checking he had all of his pokemon, and bolting. Gold watched him go, a frown taking residence on his face.

"Just my luck," the boy sighed, "now we'll never get in. C'mon, Pyros, let's see if there's another way in. Bruce, return!" He was almost out the door, hitmontop securely in its pokeball and quilava at this side when he heard it.

"Hail Giovanni!" came Petrel's unmistakable voice. Gold whipped around, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Hail Giovanni!" The voice was coming from far off to the side, and he turned slowly to make sure he didn't miss anything- he was glad he did, too, because the murkrow perched near the bookshelves was definitely his ticket into that generator room. Lance was going to be so proud of him. That would show Silver he wasn't weak!

"Hey, there," he cooed at the bird, "you mind coming with us for just a second?"

"Hail Giovanni!" the murkrow replied. Gold held his arm in front of the little bird, and it hopped onto him to hitch a ride.

"Alright, pretty girl," he said, "let's do this."

Things weren't looking relatively good for Team Rocket, though they were for Gold. Maybe he would achieve the same sort of status his idol, Red, had. That, certainly, would be a dream come true.

* * *

**Heyyyy, guyyyysssss! I'm sorry for the wait and for the lack of real content in this chapter, but Mahogany had to be done before I could move everything back to Goldenrod. Ah, well. Hooray for continuity. **

**So, I know we're still a couple chapters away from finishing, but I'm already starting to think about what I want to work on next, and I'm interested in what you guys would be interested in. I've set up a poll on my profile if you wanna check that out. There's no guarantee that what has the highest score would be the next thing I write, but like I said, I kinda wanna know what you guys would like. Maybe I'll be able to find some inspiration from it or something, I dunno. O3o**

**Also I hope Petrel came across alright in this chapter. I have zero percent experience with people that are high/being high, so I really had no idea what I was doing. .-. Meh. Happy May, errybody. Special thanks to PurpleArmadillo for naming Nyx!  
**


	38. Proton's Rescue

Disclaimer: Can't beat my, can't beat my, no you can't beat my disclaimer (I don't wanna get myself sued).

It may have been the adrenaline, or it may have been because enough time had passed, but as Petrel bolted out of the base and towards the tree line of the town's outskirts, he was starting to loose that chill, relaxed feeling he'd had. On one hand, he was thankful that he was starting to sober up, as it would allow him to be in a stable state of mind once they began evacuations. On the other hand, he was slowly starting to realize the mistake he had made with that Gold boy and that Ariana was going to be furious when she caught up with him, and he was slowly but surely becoming rather nervous of the fact- Archer had more or less _just_ purged his track record, and Petrel wasn't exactly keen on getting anything put back on there. Also, when he had to spill the beans to Proton- because, of course, he would _have_ to spill the beans to Proton, how could he possibly not- his companion would definitely be pissed with him, if only because he'd been scarfing down pot brownies without said companion's knowing.

"He's gonna skin me alive," he murmured, more to himself than to Monoxide, who was floating on behind him. Nevertheless, that didn't stop his favorite koffing from replying.

"Koff?" At his pokemon's anxious expression, Petrel felt his frown deepening.

"No, not really," he sighed, "Pro's unstable, but he's not _that_ bad. The only time he's ever laid a _finger_ on me, with the intention of hurting me, was that once, right after Decarli left. Don't worry, Monoxide, alright?"

"Koff!" Monoxide protested, pouting. "Koff, kofffiiing, koffkoffing koff!"

"I don't _know_ what Archer's gonna do," Petrel whined, "half the time I think the man's even more unstable than Proton! It just goes to show you, Monoxide, you always gotta keep your guard up around Irish mafiamen, alright? Sometimes I wonder if _he_ should have been the soulless ginger of the two." Monoxide chortled, just as anxious as his expression, but it was enough to lighten the mood as they pressed onwards, attempting to find a safe path for what remained of their organization to escape upon.

"You know," Petrel mused as he climbed up a rather steep ledge towards Route 42, "something tells me things would be going a lot smoother if we still had Decarli. He was always better at that whole 'don't let strange children into our base' thing than Seliber was. And that 'don't let Proton kill the grunts' thing, too. Just, in general, if Decarli were here, we'd still be cooped up inside like we were _supposed_ to be."

"Koffiiiiiing," Monoxide agreed. Petrel grunted as he hoisted himself up another, steeper ledge (he'd go so far as to call it a small cliff, actually), mentally huffing complaints about how it totally wasn't fair that Monoxide could just _float_ over the damn thing. Half-way up, however, his mental complaints were cut short by his pokegear going off, and for a split second as it vibrated he was certain it was either Proton calling to check in, or Ariana calling to tell him that she was going to hunt him down and murder him in his sleep. The only thing that convinced him otherwise was a ringtone he hadn't heard in _years _(it just so happened to be New Politics' _Give Me Hope_, which he hadn't listened to in _forever_, it felt like), and despite being terribly surprised, he indulged in his usual mannerism of allowing said ringtone to play for several seconds longer than was absolutely necessary (to be fair, he _was_ still getting over climbing the damn cliff) before he answered it.

"Seeing as this is the first time you've called me since you resigned," the purple executive said, almost curtly, "I'm going to assume something's up, and it involves Proton. He didn't kill anything small and adorable, did he?"

"_No,_" came Decarli's voice from the other end, so familiar and yet at the same time so not, "_he- I think he might be in trouble._"

"Yeah, that's not new," Petrel sighed, sitting down. "Where is he?"

"_Last I saw him, he was heading down to the Underground Path. That was last night- he hasn't come out, yet. He said if he took too long, I should call you._"

"Underground Path? The hell would he be doing down there?" Decarli hesitated for a moment.

"_Well... he thought he saw some Cipher grunts head down there,_" he eventually admitted, "_I... was too chicken to go down with him. I'm sorry, sir. I fear he's been captured._"

"Shit," Petrel groaned. "Dammit, Decarli!You used to be more useful than _this_! Weren't you supposed to be Pro's battle buddy?!"

"_I said I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do about it, now._"

"Yes there fucking _is_. You're going down with me, when I get there. In the meantime, find us a couple of Cipher uniforms, if you can. With good disguises, we'll be in and out before you can say 'koffing'."

"_You can't be serious_."

"Does it _look like_ I'm joking, here?"

"_...No?_"

"Good guess." Petrel nodded in satisfaction. "Though, since you had a fifty-fifty chance, I'm not entirely impressed. If I Fly I'll be there in less than thirty minutes. You better be ready when I get there."

"_Yes, Sir. I'll be standing around near the Game Corner._"

"Alright. I'll meet you, there." Before Decarli could say another word, Petrel flipped his PokeGear shut and slipped it back into his pocket, standing and stretching. Monoxide floated over him, frowning slightly, and Petrel raised an eyebrow in return. "What's up, Monoxide?"

"Koff," Monoxide replied, obviously in no way reassured that Petrel was actually sobering up, "koffing."

"Oh, don't be like _that_. I'm a _doctor._" Ignoring Monoxide's continuing doubts, Petrel opened his bag and began digging in it, withdrawing a revive and some potions. "Do you really have so little faith in me that you thought I wouldn't come prepared?" He flipped open the revive container, revealing a small tube, and fitted it into an equally small opening in the pokeball, pressing a button to administer the drug. After a moment, the pokeball beeped, and he put the empty revive back in his bag (he was an Executive, not a litterbug), and then gently tossing it, let Helix back out. The ditto gave a small whine and sagged slightly, a pitiful look on his face.

"Ditto," he squeaked.

"Aw, I know, baby, I know," Petrel crooned, "that mean little boy made his pokemon hurt you real bad, didn't he? Don't worry, I'll make you feel better in no time, okay? Now, hold still, this'll sting a little..." Helix grimaced as the purple executive sprayed him with a couple of the potions, but smiled and squeaked when the soothing agents kicked in. "Feeling better? Or at least good enough to give me a lift to Goldenrod?" Helix puffed out his ditto-y chest (or what passed for a ditto-chest) and then transformed, taking the shape of a mighty aerodactyl. Petrel grinned and recalled Monoxide, who still looked doubtful of the whole situation, and then climbed onto Helix's back.

With a single, fierce cry, the ditto-turned-aerodactyl beat his wings and took to the sky. As the wind whipped passed the two, Petrel couldn't help but feel as though, maybe, just maybe, things would turn out alright. That they would be able to retrieve Proton safely, and that even with the loss of their very last base, their message would reach Giovanni. That things could go back to normal, even in just a few years. That his life hadn't been wasted. From so high up in the air, on a ditto that seemed to be able to transform into anything and everything, Petrel felt practically invincible. Just for a bit.

* * *

Decarli shifted anxiously outside of the game corner as he clutched a bag filled with Cipher uniforms to his chest- he really had no idea how he'd gotten so lucky as to get his hands on what he could. One second he'd been talking to Petrel over the pokegear (which was nostalgic as hell), and the next, he'd been quietly following a couple of Cipher grunts down an alley. It had been such a long time since Shoyu had battled in even the vaguest sense, but Decarli had been relieved to know that there hadn't been any impact on her skill, whatsoever. One Stealth Rock and a couple Foul Plays later, and the grunts had been safely and carefully hidden in a dumpster after having their uniforms stripped from them. All in all, it had been a clean job. He only hoped it wouldn't be too late for them to rescue Proton.

It had been less than half an hour later when Petrel, hair slicked back and make-up blurring his features, showed up, and Decarli barely recognized him, at first. Of course, he'd gotten used to seeing Petrel with make-up over the years, so it wasn't _that_ that threw him off- it was how thin he was. The executive had always been a bit of a beanpole, but he just looked downright malnourished, now. Idly, he wondered why Proton hadn't seemed that unhealthy, but otherwise, cast it out of his mind. Now wasn't the time to be musing over old friends' health.

"Executive," he greeted quietly. "I got what you asked for."

"Good." Petrel nodded in satisfaction. "We'll change in the alley and head down. Have you cleared a Cipher outpost, before?"

"Yes, sir," Decarli confirmed. "Proton always took me with him on those missions."

"I want you and Shoyu to watch my six. I'll try and keep you as far out of harm's way as possible; I can just imagine your wife isn't too thrilled you're out here, with us."

"Ah, actually, she still thinks I work at the department store." Decarli laughed awkwardly as they ducked into an alley to change. "I quit a couple days ago, so I could work with Proton."

"Oh, you're coming back? That explains things." Petrel frowned as he adjusted his goggles and scarf. "Geez, I thought these guys were Orre-based. With these uniforms, they'd get heatstroke in that Ho-ohforsaken spit of land."

"To be fair, our uniforms weren't exactly conducive to a healthy lifestyle in the summer," Decarli said, shrugging. Petrel snorted, but after that, all conversation came to a halt. They ran through the back alleys until they found themselves at an entrance to the Goldenrod Tunnels, where Petrel paused, lowered his goggles over his eyes, and motioned for Decarli to do the same. The moment the two of them were ready, they plunged forth into the depths of Goldenrod's underbelly.

The tunnels were just as dirty and filled with trash as Petrel remembered them to be, which was a shame- it could have been a wonderful shopping mall, provided people had actually taken care of it. There were a couple shops, of course, and they were lovely, when he'd managed to catch them- the haircut brothers especially, the older one wasn't exactly bad to look at- and he could only guess as to how they actually made a living with barely anyone going by. It probably involved copious amounts of shady dealings. Huh. Maybe he should get in on that, if he ever found Proton. If they got a good slowpoke tail supply going, maybe they could sell down there.

"So, where's this Cipher base?" he asked as he led Decarli forward. Decarli shrugged.

"Not entirely sure," he said, "I didn't get down this far. I- I chickened out above ground."

"Dammit, Decarli," Petrel sighed. "Alright, let's just-"

"Hey- you two!" Petrel frowned and glanced up, finding none other than a member of Team Cipher striding towards them from down the tunnel. Huh. Well, that was convenient timing. He felt Decarli freeze next to him, but he wasn't about to let this opportunity go to waste.

"Sir!" Petrel replied, saluting. "What can we do for you?" The Cipher stared at them for a moment quietly, tilting his head just a bit. Oh, great. He was already suspicious.

"I don't think I've seen you around," he said slowly, "who sent you?"

"The, uh- the Union," Decarli quickly stuttered out. The Cipher crossed his arms, his frown deepening.

"Which union?"

"The- the one for Cipher Grunts? They said you needed backup?" There were several more moments of silence in which the Cipher stared at them, long and hard, before he shrugged.

"Well, if the Union sent you, I guess I can't argue," he said. "Actually, some back-up would be good, right now- we got our hands on one of the tops guys in Team Rocket, and he's a handful, even _with_ all that shit we're shooting him up with. Follow me."

"How did you know about the Union?" Petrel whispered to Decarli as they followed the Cipher back down the tunnel. Decarli snorted.

"Man, I was talking out of my ass," he replied, "I just got lucky." Petrel had to try hard not to laugh.

The room they were led to- or rather series of rooms- was odd, to be perfectly honest. It seemed to be made up of multiple rooms with differently-colored floors. A room in the middle had a set of three switches, and Petrel nodded them out to Decarli as they passed. That was definitely something to keep in mind. Who knows? Maybe it could be useful. Of course, they didn't stop in any of the rooms, they were merely led to and down a set of stairs, into a larger, darker room filled with boxes- a warehouse, Petrel recognized. They must have been somewhere under the department store. Interesting.

"Alright," the Cipher pig was saying, "so what you two are going to do here is-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Decarli had bashed him upside the head with a length of pipe, and while the Cipher was momentarily stunned, slammed the pipe into his stomach, then into his crotch. The man let out a pitiful noise and doubled over, falling to the floor. One more kick, and he was out. Petrel nodded in approval.

"I see why Pro likes to take you with him," he mused. "Alright, I'm going further in- you clear the place out, we'll meet back up in the tunnels in twenty. Sound good?"

"I have no idea how many of these bastards there are," Decarli sighed, "there may be too many of them, Petrel."

"I know, just... do what you can, yeah?" Petrel waved off Decarli's concerns with a strained smiles. "Don't worry. We'll all be okay." Decarli merely shook his head, but he accepted his assignment without complaint, and turned, taking off to sweep the warehouse. Petrel watched him go until he'd disappeared, and steeling himself, let out a his of air in anxiety.

He sure hoped things would be okay.

* * *

The world was blurry- no, no fuzzy. Why was everything so fuzzy? Ugh, it was probably those damn mareep again, and- why did that seem so familiar? Proton groaned around a wad of cloth that seemed to be stuffed in his mouth as he tried to think it over. For some reason, he had the oddest urge to go find a bass cannon. Oh, Lugia, something was wrong with him. Okay- okay- what was the last thing he could remember? He'd gone out with Decarli, they'd gotten the blueprints from the radio tower, they'd had lunch... they'd seen a Cipher member. He'd chased the Cipher member. Someone grabbed him, and there had been chloroform. So he'd been captured. Slowly, he flexed his fingers, finding them to be behind his back, and he tried to bring them around to his front, but no matter how hard he tried- and he didn't seem to be able to try very hard, for some odd reason- he couldn't get them away from each other. So that probably meant rope. Maybe chains, if those assholes knew what was good for them. But then why was the room filled with so many pretty colors? And why was it so wavey?

He tried to think, tried to come up with answers to his current predicament, but he only succeeded in hurting his head and making the waviness worse. Fuck, they'd drugged him. Not good. Okay, step one: get out of his restraints. Step two: find his knife and go on a violent rampage. Step three: find his hat, because he was damn sure it wasn't on his head, where it was supposed to be. But first, he had to get some use of his hands. And probably his legs. A quick flex determined that all of his extremities were intact, but just as his arms had been, his legs seemed to be bound, as well. That was alright. He'd deal with it, and those bastard would pay.

Slowly, uncoordinated, he began to tug against the ropes, and gradually they began to loosen. Great. Just a few more hours of this, and he'd be home free. Fuckin' knots. Maybe if he got his feet free, first... With a muffled grunt, he began squirming, but instead of getting himself out of his restraints, he merely succeeded in falling over. Well, maybe he could just weedle his way over to the door and get out that way. Somehow. He was just beginning to do that, in fact, when the door opened and a blurry, white, tall figure entered the room. Ah, shit. It was a peon- as if he needed _that_, right now. It was a rather bold peon, as well, he was getting close- a little too close, in fact- wait why was he coming so close oh shit not more drugs shitshitshitshitshitshi-

"Lance?" came the tentative voice. "Oh, Ho-Oh, what the hell did they do to you?" _Fuck_. The peon kneeled in front of him and reached out to touch him, to undoubtedly shoot him up with something or other, and that was something he really, _really_ didn't want, because according to Petrel he got so fucking clingy when he was out of it. That didn't stop the figure from enveloping him with a pair of exceedingly warm arms, and he began to flail. He'd be fucked if he let some Cipher get away with drugging him _again_. "Hey, hey- shh, sweetheart, it's alright, it's me. Calm down, okay? Sweetheart, please!" 'Sweetheart'? Only Petrel had the balls to call him that. In fact, only Petrel could even get away with it. Then that meant...

The purple-haired executive removed the helmet of the uniform he was wearing, tossing it carelessly to the side as he continued to shush Proton, holding him close. His embrace had a calming effect on the greenette, and he found himself settling down, though he was struggling to get his breathing back under control. He tried to speak, but of course, it came out muffled.

"Decarli told me what happened," Petrel murmured, "don't worry, sweetheart, I'll get you out of here. Let me just get that gag out of your mouth..." Apparently, they'd taped his mouth shut, too, because the next thing Proton knew a fiery sting spread across his cheeks and lips as Petrel ripped it off.

"Y'coulda been gentle, ass," he slurred the instant the cloth was removed from his mouth. Petrel laughed a little.

"If only I had the time, right?" He proceeded to flick out a knife and started slicing through the ropes. "Sorry. At least I did it quick. Decarli's holding off the peons, but I dunno how much longer he'll be able to fight 'em. We'll need to hurry to-" It seemed luck was not on their side, that day, as it was about that moment when the door opened, yet again,and a couple more peons stepped inside; Proton was pretty sure none of them were going to be exactly friendly.

"I told you we had an _infestation_," one of them sneered.

"Damn Rockets," another added. "You'd think they'd learn."

"Hey," said the third, "look at it this way: now we'll have _two_ of their executives."

"You're right," the second agreed, "we'd probably get a good chunk of cash if we ransom 'em off."

"Or we could ship 'em to Orre and morph 'em," the first mused.

"Or you could, y'know, not," Petrel piped in. They merely glowered at him, and he groaned. "Oh, c'mon, guys, think of all the good times we had! Like that time I said 'hey' to you two minutes ago like we were friends!" Yeah, they didn't seem amused in the least. In fact, they seemed decidedly ferocious about it all, as they lunged at Petrel, coming at him from all sides. Proton watched, eyes wide as his lover danced out of the way of their attacks, the distance between them all closing and closing until he was avoiding them by mere centimeters. With a growl, the green executive began tugging against the ropes again. Thanks to Petrel's earlier efforts, the ropes around his legs were somewhat loose, and they came off easily, but the ropes around his wrist were still tight as fuck.

"P!" he called, "Seven 'o clock!" Petrel whirled around quickly, managing to trip the peon rushing him, and grinned over his shoulder at Proton.

"Thanks, Pro!" He quickly blocked another attack and threw _that_ peon over his shoulder. Proton grinned, and was about to make a joke, something about Petrel being too quick for him (which would definitely get him trouble the next time they slept together, but it was usually worth it), and from Petrel's grin, he could tell the man was certainly satisfied with himself- he could probably be expecting some sort of performance joke in return. And then there was the warm splattering on his face, and he blinked, confused. The fuck was...? Slowly, the two of them lowered their gaze only to find the end of a knife piercing through Petrel's uniform, and that was when Proton understood.

That had been blood that splattered on his face. Petrel's blood. Someone stabbed Petrel. _Someone. Fucking. Stabbed. Petrel. _His lover stared at the blade tip for just a moment before turning wide eyes back on Proton's face. A split second later, he was falling to his knees, one hand flying to the knife to keep it in place while the other raised to his mouth as he coughed up blood. The peon behind him, one eye bruised but otherwise looking perfectly fine, grinned.

"Think you had us just 'cause we're the lackeys?" he snickered, "guess again, hotshot. Didn't they teach you never to let your guard down in that sissy team of yours?" Proton snarled angrily and tugged at the ropes around his wrists harder and harder; the peon looked back to him and laughed outright. "And you! 'Scariest and cruelest' my ass! Some rope's all it takes to keep you off my back, ya little prick! Couldn't even do anything to stop me from killing your buddy, here!"

Anger. Blinding rage. Proton's vision started to swim, the world fading around him into nothing more than a blur, and all of a sudden he was flying through the air, a warcry tearing from his throat. He wasn't sure what happened, just that there was red, so much fucking red, and something soft and kinda squishy tearing apart easily in his hands. A heavy metallic scent began to stain the air, but it didn't mean anything to him, he just kept snarling and growling like a wild pokemon, watching as more and more red pooled in the blurriness of it all. It had been such a long time since he experienced such pure, unadulterated rage. It felt good.

The next thing he knew, he was breathing heavily, trying to keep his anger in check, and pinning the peon who had hurt Petrel to the wall by his soft, vulnerable little neck. Shit, how much he wanted to wring the life out of the little fucker then and there. The man- no, kid, he was just a boy, young and arrogant and cocky- was staring at him, wide-eyed and pale. So fragile, Proton thought, all he'd had to do was go a little wild and the brat was scared of him. But maybe this would be a good thing. He could show a little mercy, now and again.

"Here's the deal," he spat out between grinding teeth, "I'm gonna let you down and count to fuckin' ten. If you're not out by the time I finish, I'll fuckin' tear your ass apart. But Petrel, here, the guy you stabbed? He's a nice guy, asshole. He'd tell me to put you the _fuck_ down, 'cause you're still a snot-nosed punk who don't know right from left. So here's how it's gonna work. You haul ass back to wherever the _fuck_ Cipher hangs, and you tell those bastards I said to _get the fuck out of our region_. You tell 'em if they don't, I'll fuckin' see to it that no one gets out alive- and then, I'll take you home with me, and keep you down in one of my dark little dungeons so I can play with you. You'd be surprised how long I can keep someone alive, even if I hack off a limb or two. But you be a good boy, you give 'em my message, and you all scram? No one else gets hurt. You go home scot-free, and your mama will be _so_ fuckin' happy 'bout it, too. We understand each other, here, punk?" The boy was shaking like a leaf, now, and Proton couldn't help but smirk, and tighten his grip. "Well? Yes or no, I ain't got all day?" The boy nodded rapidly, wordlessly, and without another threat, Proton dropped him. He watched until the boy was out of the room, and the instant he was alone with Petrel, he spun around and ran over, dropping to his knees next to the man.

"Shit, Lance," Petrel gasped, "I think you're getting worse." Proton spared a glance back at the room- the bodies of the other two peons seemed to have been literally torn apart, the walls and floor covered in blood, and he grimaced before turning back to Petrel.

"Don't worry about that now," he replied, "you're _hurt_, P. I- I don't know how... Can you tell me how- how to fix you? Here, I'll..." He reached around Petrel's back towards the knife's handle, but Petrel shook his head and coughed again, his grip on the blade tightening.

"Don't pull it out," he grunted, "if you remove it, I'll just bleed out. Just- just call Bernard, okay? Call Bernard, tell him what happened, I don't- I don't have anything to..."

"Oh, Ho-Oh..." Proton reached out, slowly and hesitantly, trying to somehow stop the bleeding even around the knife. "Petrel, this is really, _really_ bad-"

"Call Bernard," Petrel repeated, "it'll be okay, sweetheart, call Bernard... Just _do it_, okay...?" The younger opened his mouth to protest, but his lover merely fixed him with a pleading, desperate gaze before turning to cough, again, this time worse, and Proton's hand flew to Petrel's pokegear, scrolling quickly passed several of the contacts until he found Drazen's number, and he hit the 'call' button.

It took two minutes for the man to answer. It took three for him to get Proton to calm down enough to explain the situation. Four to reassure him everything was going to be okay. That was when Petrel finally collapsed, struggling to stay awake despite the bleeding. Proton had dropped the pokegear then, not caring when the screen cracked, and rushed back to his lover's side, panicking and calling his name over and over again until Decarli came in, leading Drazen and one or two more nurses straight to them. They tried to take Petrel away from him, but he wouldn't have it, and he fought and struggled, fang and claw, as Decarli did his best to pull him away, trying to explain to him that they needed to get Petrel somewhere clean and safe so they could help him. He wore himself out soon enough, reduced to nothing more but a disheveled wreck.

They took Petrel back to Decarli's apartment, where Petrel was set on the couch and the rest of them were ushered into Virgil's bedroom with the child and Decarli's wife, who had, quite honestly, been very upset when she finally found out what had been going on behind her back. The two of them began arguing, civil at first, and gradually more and more heated and more and more angry until they'd gotten into a shouting match and he couldn't take it, he couldn't fucking take it. He retreated further and further back until his back hit the corner and he slid down to sit on the floor, covering his ears, trying so hard to block them out and oh shit it was bad it was so bad there was so much blood and Petrel was _hurt_ and everyone was _shouting_ and oh shit oh shit oh shit _oh shit oh shitohshitohshitohshitohfuckingshit_.

He wasn't sure when he broke. He wasn't even sure why he broke the way he did. He wasn't angry, anymore, he was scared. So fucking scared, because Petrel had lost _so much fucking blood_ already, and oh, Lugia, he didn't want to lose him, oh fuck, he was so scared he was going to lose him. All he knew was that when the waterworks finally broke, Decarli was instantly at his side, telling Sheryl to take Virgil to the bathroom and lock themselves in, and the man held him. Just held him. He didn't say anything, just let him cry and cry and cry until he'd cried himself out, and even then he continued to hold him, rubbing his back soothingly. Fuck. He was getting all touchy-feely and shit. This had to be Petrel's fault, somehow.

"It's alright," Decarli murmured, "it's alright, kiddo. Everything is going to be alright. Drazen's good, y'know? Petrel will be fine. Everything's gonna be fine, alright?" Proton nodded vigorously, clinging tightly to his old friend.

"I'm scared," he admitted, "I'm so fucking scared, Leo." He laughed awkwardly and wiped at his eyes. "Fuck, look at me, all of this over a little flesh wound. What a joke."

"I'd be just as bad as you, in your position," Decarli snorted. "I'm actually surprised you're taking this so well. I guess you got it all out of your system with those Cipher punks?"

"I tore them to fuckin' shreds," Proton sneered, almost hysterically. "They shoulda fuckin' known not to mess with me."

"They know now." Decarli ruffled his hair affectionately, and momentarily Proton was reminded of the days he first spent in Team Rocket, shy and quiet and polite, when Decarli was still teaching him how they ran things in the U. They'd taken a instant liking to each other, then. Work wasn't all Decarli had taught him about, either- cards, billiards, hockey, drinking, talking to girls, the best place to train his pokemon out in the forest. That was back when Petrel had been keeping him at an arm's length, only talking with him long enough to say 'good morning' and 'see you tomorrow'. Decarli had always been there, for him. Fuck, he was such a good friend.

"I don't think I ever told you how fucking much I appreciate you putting up with me, Leo," the greenette laughed. He finally pulled away, slumping back against the wall, and Decarli offered him a small smile and sat back next to him.

"It's all in the job description," he said. "I gotta look out for you, y'know. You're a top-priority unit. Though maybe not top-quality, in terms of sanity."

"Sanity's over-rated when you work in security." He smirked and nodded towards the bathroom. "I think I'm alright, now. If you wanna calm 'em back."

"It might be better to keep them there for a little longer, sorry. It's not that I don't trust you, or anything, just... I'm not sure if you're really stable yet, after all that." The man shook his head. "I won't lie, what you did was pretty fucked up. But you let the kid go. I guess I'm kinda proud of you, for that. It must have taken some insane willpower, especially for you."

"Petrel would have been angry if I killed a kid." The executive shrugged one shoulder. "He was hurt, I couldn't do anything to stress him out." Decarli's smile broadened, and he was ab out to say something else when the door opened, and Bernard peered in. Proton found himself stiffening at the man's presence, but he merely smiled brightly.

"He's alright," he said, "a little woozy, but he didn't lose so much he needed a transfusion, or anything. It was good you didn't pull the knife out, things could have been much worse. He's still awake- you wanna come say hi?" Proton didn't need telling twice; he leaped to his feet and rushed into the living room, kneeling next to the couch and giving Petrel, tired-looking but smiling, the biggest hug he possibly could. Decarli and Bernard watched on from over by the kitchen bar.

"I'm surprised he pulled through," Decarli murmured.

"He's a tough cookie, I'll give him that," Bernard agreed, "it wasn't looking good, for a little bit. Heard Proton's little melt-down, though. It stressed him out a hell of a lot. He tried to get up in the middle of the treatment to go to him."

"They're both good kids. They need each other."

"So does this mean you're back, then?" Decarli nodded.

"Yeah," he said, "I'll have to explain it all to Sheryl, tonight, but I think once I get it all out there, she'll understand. She won't be happy, of course, but she'll understand. That kid is like family to us, y'know? We practically adopted him when he first signed on. I have to watch out for him, while I still can."

"I guess that puts us roughly in the same boat," Bernard said dryly, "ever since I got transferred here, I've had to watch out for Petrel. You remember those days, when he was always picking on the new guys?" Decarli laughed, and nodded.

"Oh, I was always so worried for this one new kid in my group. Petrel seemed to have his eyes on him a little more than he needed to. It's a shame what happened, in the end."

"Archer made me keep even closer tabs on the guy after that. He's come a long way since then, though. They both have."

"I guess we can only hope things will get better from here."

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't get them up too high, though. This really could all go to shit."

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see."

For now, they would have to be content simply watching the happy ending to their current events. There was no doubt stress was going to be running high, come the next few weeks. They might as well enjoy the happy moments while they lasted. There was no telling when everything could just disappear. But, really, what was the point in worrying? What would come, would come, and they would just have to take it as it all came. That was their job, after all.

* * *

**Fun fact: Proton was the one who was supposed to get stabbed in this chapter, but he's gotten maimed enough, so far, so Petrel it was. **

**Other Fun Fact: This was actually supposed to be part of a larger sub-plot before the events of Silph. I thought it would have a better impact here, though.**

**Other Other Fun Fact: Decarli and Bernard are childhood friends, back from their goody-two-shoes trainer days. They were surprised to find each other in Team Rocket when they ran back into each other, again, and are now more like friendly rivals.**

**We're almost done, guys! Next is the Radio Tower! Are you stoked? I'm stoked! Whooooo! Just to let you know, I'm planning on it being one of the largest chapters (it was originally going to be two-three chapters long, but to make the story fit in 40 chapters, with epilogue, it has to be condensed), so it may take me a while to get it all, but please stay tuned!  
**


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